"Owls are not what they seem"
Dry lips
shield my wet warm mouth
from kissing.
I wrap strings of my hair
around fingers
as
I watch your thoughts dreaming
about
my legs
wrapped around your neck
instead.
We don’t talk
and you can’t hear my whispers,
but we both know
that I’ll be sitting on your
face
tonight
and at your breakfast table
tomorrow.
– Chatty Owl –
White dented skin,
marked with careful precision
of
accidental wounds.
I look over my shoulder
instead of looking at your face
and it makes it all glamorous
and justifying,
as if I was posing
for that perfect picture.
Your salty fingers
end up invading my mouth,
stopping me
from screaming out the truth,
so what you get
are forced, silent lies.
Deaf
to the sound of ill-coloured heart
and blind
to the pale indifference we both share,
we let our exhaled breaths float
in the night around us.
I strike you as cold,
but it’s just that
I don’t like crying
over spilled milk.
– Chatty Owl –
You found me naked
moments after I didn’t want to
be discovered,
yet
I still let you watch me
while I was watching you(r)
reaction.
Exposed skin
became less and less visible
by the soundless noise of the soft cashmere
that suddenly covered my arms.
Dark cotton slid on my skin
flawlessly
as
the colour of my pale milky legs
got replaced by denim.
Glimpses of the bare flesh
got exchanged for fabric
and
your surprised expression
got exchanged for mutual attraction.
Buzzing in the air.
I watched you watching me
getting dressed
and you could barely control your excitement
and the urge
to rip my clothes
back off.
Even though you heard
my mind screaming “no”
in reply,
we both knew
that all you had to do
is say one word
to make it all happen.
I make pretty words
sound filthy
and you tame wild girls
to act oh-so-obedient.
– Chatty Owl –
Lack of sleep
turns into lack of tolerance
I have for you
right now.
My restless body
moves under pale shadows
of these warm sheets
and I eagerly attempt to ignore
the approaching morning
in order to forget
that
my sunsets are the colour of your heart
that got violently pierced
by skyscrapers
of an unfamiliar land,
where I fly
high,
above the first glimpse
of the London dawn
to steal your sky away,
just like I took your heart
that day
on a journey to nowhere.
With me.
I teased
and left you wanting me
a little bit more
than you did two minutes ago,
but it wasn’t enough
to make you lose your mind,
all because we both know
I made this choice for us
on purpose
and
spoiled the taste
of my imaginary whispers
and kisses on your mouth
to stop us moving forward.
Addictions require dedication
and I don’t like commitments.
– Chatty Owl –
Stop.
Frozen bodies around us.
Touch.
My hand in yours.
Warm.
We are still warm.
Beg.
To stay this way.
Simple toys of paper airplanes
give me hope
that dreams fly at the speed of a thought –
light enough to be a breath
on a steamed mirror
that reflects you
next-to-me
and not the other way round.
– Chatty Owl –
Your silent words,
sealed lips,
like an envelope of a letter
I’m dreading to open.
You gift me with a quiet torture,
an abandon treatment
and I know,
there is only an empty sheet of paper
inside.
Withhold the sentences
and words,
and cryptic letters,
forget the exclamation marks
that turn to
questions,
forget the signatures
and crinkled corners –
I’m holding this,
that’s nothing more than pile of dust –
imagination,
wishful thinking,
a gust of wind and whispers in the grass.
I thank you for nothing,
yet
I have to thank you.
– Chatty Owl –
You put words in my mouth
instead of placing fingers
there.
I let screams of anger,
when I should be shouting curses
of
ultimate pleasure.
Loud screeching noises
and
sounds of carnivore hunger
get mixed up in my mind,
while fading away into the fog
around us,
and like a sadistic siren
I enjoy
every single moment
that crows spend picking
on your heart.
I
should be burning your tongue
with mine,
but instead
I’m burning memories of us,
because scattered ashes
is the best way
to end it.
– Chatty Owl –
My open mouth
swirling words,
spitting abuse and
words of fucking love.
Slick hugs
feel
like an obedient canary
singing praises –
raises –
ups and downs
of these nightmares.
Your lips
with the taste of lazy nothing,
aroma of a bird
(with wet feathers)
on you,
under,
on top of
me
(inside you)
and visa versa –
I’m a plain romance
to you.
With a heart of whiskey,
body of ice,
and
kisses and touches
in the pissing rain.
You call me names you know,
But you don’t know
-ME-
Lolita is my nickname
and
… is my name.
Sweet kisses
and fluttering eyelashes
turn into fans of lust,
waves of love,
winds of attraction,
hurricanes, that
destroy fucking everything –
even red lipstick
and
flawless legs.
Come.
Touch me to death.
To the line of departure.
Before it’s too soon to regret.
Lets.
Now.
– Chatty Owl –
Dirty taste of wet water.
Don’t remember all the sins I committed,
but
I still dip my toes and run my fingertips
in a shamefully disguised surprise
about
how sinister my past is.
You used to pull my hair
as I pulled myself up from my knees –
the electricity was so buzzing
between us,
that our bodies lost connection
and died
electrocuted
by each other’s sin.
– Chatty Owl –
Faint smell,
lingering on my fingers
is a constant reminder
of
those flawless hugs,
tongue-tied sentences
and
over-exposed film
that you used
on me
the night before.
It was black-cat-dark
and so softly purring
when
I came
(to you),
like a moon-child chasing paper
as I tried to stay
untraced
under your skin,
leaving you guilt and memory free
of us,
except I failed
and left
long black hair
scattered on your floor
while
every single carpet burn
now
means
that you cannot forget me.
Try?
– Chatty Owl –
CHATTYOWL 