Kisses - they don't cease to stop. Minute after minute, until dark coffee from my cup turns into your drink now - from my mouth. We are exchanging glances, but I wish to be swapping fluids instead. Shame seems to leave the room and all that's left is pure attraction for each other. Instincts of carnivore. My mouth is warm with your fiery words, our hands are full of each other, and I can't stop asking, if you really love me. - Chatty Owl -
BOUNDARIES
Yes.
I eavesdrop,
and like a bird of prey,
I watch you from afar.
I sieve your glances
through the filter of my liking,
making judgments,
wondering,
if I’m still present in your cup of tea.
I know how you take it.
Still.
Your day is beautiful with chaos,
while my mind is beautiful with you.
I feel my thoughts leaving
my
fingertips sometimes,
in a form of hasty written words,
but I never regret those escapees –
they have been held prisoners
for so long.
I’m invisible.
Untraceable by your senses.
I undress my soul for you
as I watch you reveal your body.
We are naked,
on opposite sides of the fence,
that none of us erected,
so in a way..
we are both
within the reach of a hand,
yet unloved
by each other.
– Chatty Owl –
IT’S ALL IN TWO
Hand in hand
with frothy beer.
Bottle-tops missing
as is my top too.
I squirm uncomfortably
on the sand
as you return the favour.
And I drink
barley juice
out of your mouth.
It’s all vitamins anyway.
Bottomless happiness
surrounds
your mind,
my body,
our longings.
Deceiving words
and
chalky food
is a substitute we found content in.
Enrich my world
with oily passion.
Dripping down saliva.
And you will see
that
“she sells seashells”
of your prickly past.
With echoes.
Not of sea,
but of your sins.
Im topless.
Shameless.
Hiding nothing
but my eyes.
You squirm now,
on the sand.
Withering relationships
and
sinking ships of love.
Forget the seashells,
pebbles,
cherry knots
and
me.
Hoot hoot no more.
Im taking sandy beaches
elsewhere.
– Chatty Owl –
COLOUR OF YOUR VOICE
I miss the colour of your words.
They used to taste like a rainbow,
but floated around
like a nighttime bug
and
turned to dust when touched
by lips of mine.
I swallowed your abc’s
like a bait –
with an enthusiastic passion.
I daydream about you,
your soft voice
and accent, foreign to my ears –
it’s to die for.
I told you once
and I’ll say it again –
you can read
a fridge manual out loud
and I’ll still get sticky wet
just by
listening to you.
Have I told you
that I imagine your hands
in between my legs,
when I read some
random famous poetry
and I burn bridges to my past,
so that you
are the only memory
for me.
I’ve never met you,
nor I ever will,
but my heart belongs to you.
So does my body.
Come, abuse them both.
– Chatty Owl –
EARLY TOMORROW MORNING
You asked me,
if I enjoy
admiring the boredom of the room,
and this is how I knew,
that my indifference bothers you.
Sharing sheets for one night
is as much fun as
is borrowing the identity
of someone else
for a day,
but I’m not into stealing
fake emotions,
unless they are red
and
in a shape of a heart that I’m after.
Light-hearted sentences
land quietly on my neck,
tickling my cheekbones,
and this curved view of me
promises you a night
of no-taboo passion.
Here,
on the borrowed scent
of
your clean linen.
A glass in my hand
becomes a glass on the floor
because of a graceful twist
that I deliberately faked,
for I know,
how infatuated your mind gets
watching me
bend
for
you
this
way.
You always act like a gentleman
around me,
though I never understood
your motives
for this –
I told you
so many times,
I’d like you to be different
than the rest of them.
And they all were way too polite.
Radial bone
makes me so obediently weak,
when you press it against
my throat –
so much better
than anyone else’s fingers
grabbing my neck,
because you know
I can never obey the urge
to resist you.
You asked me if I’m close,
while my eyes questioned
why do you like me so,
and when the sticky sweat
was licked
off my lips
with a proud exclamation
of release,
all I could mouth to you
was,
how
would
you
like
your
eggs
tomorrow morning,
darling?
– Chatty Owl –
BIRTHMARK
Faint smirk.
Hair up.
I hide away
in your over-sized shirt –
it’s all buttons
down the front.
Open.
I have no wish to do them up.
You notice my bones
and decide to force-feed me
compliments
about the colour of my skin,
that apparently
always fascinated you –
it’s creamy beige
with two distinctive birth marks.
You only saw one of them.
I flick
thin pages of the notebook
and see your fingers
tapping
a silent melody
on my coffee table.
I’d like to tell you to
quit it,
but it reminds me
of those better days,
when I craved
those fingers
to leave
little
pinky
bruises
on my hips.
This is why
I don’t stop you
from making me
drift off
into those
memories –
you tease me with them
and I tease you
by crossing my legs
in front of your face.
Cliche,
but you always bite your lip
uncontrollably,
when you accidentally see
what’s between them.
Let’s fight the silent war
of a mutual arousal.
– Chatty Owl –
NOT SO LONELY SATURDAY
I forget names of lovers
and reasons why we got together,
letting my memories fade
into a petal-thin
black and white photographs
that I hang on a fishing rod
and use it as a bait
to attract new victims.
Nothing is more alluring to a man
than a failure of another one.
Patterns on my dress
swirl into never-ending stories
that I used to hear from others,
but anytime I find photos of lovers’ faces,
I’m struggling to remember all the reasons
for our abrupt goodbyes.
I know they were willing to give me
all the lust they had,
but I had nowhere to store
this overflow of love,
so I had to compensate my guilt
with words,
that were untrue,
yet they made us feel better
and by far
less awkward.
Sometimes
I list names of men
that kissed me on my lips
and compare them with the ones
that only kissed my forehead,
(like the father that I never had).
Or the ones,
that thought
the taste of my inner thighs
will make them more secure
about
what I think of them.
Six glasses of wine
and
all these words
turned into
a poem,
that
you
wont
read.
– Chatty Owl –
TEASING
Suggestive phrases
twirl inside my mind
and you wonder,
if anything I write is about you.
Would you like to know the truth?
My mouth spits out
flirtatious words
at those sensitive moments,
when your eyes melt into tears,
and I have to stop myself
from wanting to wipe them
with my lips,
because the taste of your sadness
is the one
I survive on.
Paper-thin clothes
hide the intrigue
that we are both longing after,
and every time
my curves change the shape of the fabric,
your thoughts start dancing a quickstep
of adult-rated visions.
We both smirk at each other,
knowing,
that one day
it might become
a questionable reality.
– Chatty Owl –
MOONLIGHT SONATA
I’m not the one to make my eyes melt into tears, while thinking about the past, but sometimes I sit back with a strong whiskey in my hand and remember those moments, that made my lips curl up in a smile. The drink burns my throat the same way my mind is burning ties to all the men I used to know. Or fuck.
Moonlight Sonata was always this one melody that made my eyes well up. In a happy way. Every time I listen to it, my whole body is flooded with an unexplainable inspiration, with an urge to write, create, do anything but ignore. Once in a while I’m reminded of this masterpiece (usually by accident), but it makes me smirk, remembering, how I learned to love it that much.
It was a long time ago. There was this boy, who fancied my green eyes, enough for him to stalk out little personal details about me just to please me. He was such a talented little fucker and his fingers created magic with the black and white keys of the piano. I was never the romantic type, but he managed to persuade me to stay on the phone with him for hours and hours one warm summer night, while I listened to him playing Moonlight Sonata on the loop.
It was magical. As were his fingers inside me the day after and his heart in my hand a while later. I was touched by his purity and devotion to please me, but he had to pay the price by watching his loving heart being shattered to pieces.
The Moonlight Sonata is one of the most beautiful memories I have.
– Chatty Owl –
THE PAST
You told me,
that my hands are always cold.
Especially my fingertips.
I blamed it on the weather
and
the foggy air of moody London,
but we both knew,
this is just how I am.
Icy.
You tried
to cunningly defrost my soul
and make my thoughts
all thawed and leaking water,
but
all it did,
was built defences higher
and suddenly
all doors got shut.
A heavy weight of a padlock.
You questioned everything
that popped into your head –
sincerity of my moving lips,
the truthfulness in my eyes,
the husky voice
and my motives.
True or false.
I played with strands of my hair,
to compliment
my misleading nervous answers,
while your orders
got more strict by a second,
creating waves of insecurity.
We played a game,
all back and forth,
tossing each others hearts
into the air.
Sky-high.
In the end,
there were only words left to play with,
so this is why I write.
Like this.
– Chatty Owl –
CHATTYOWL 