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adark.lana

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wonder if she let you

fuck her on the kitchen bench in a sundress

after climbing up that rural orange hill

with a bottle of wine and a sunset?

i bet she doesn’t

dance in the golden rays before reality set

move to the beat of our songs she hasn’t heard yet

after the three hour drive through the moonlight

blasting that playlist which took us

three years and two breakups to compile

have you begging at the thought of me

and what you can't devour

have you told her

the secret history of you and i

moments that could only take me to calm it down

cigarettes in your laneway wrapped to my knees

in your jacket like a blanket

seek me out in all those nightclubs

topless with you in a bathroom stall

fine lines on a warm plate like your cocaine whore

hope she knows

your drunk mouth speaks dirty sober thoughts

how easily you’ll lie

bunch of friends you’d die for, above any girl

and that wicked way you draw them in

like fools

with any version of you they’ll fall for

LJD

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Natalia Chamova

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@rosietmartin/instagram

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V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

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Sylvia Plath, from The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath; "Three Women,"

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- Sylvia Plath, from The Collected Poems, "Witch Burning", c. October 1961

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