SPIT

 

You are an enigma. I want to chew you up and spit you out. I want to roll you around in my mouth. Under my tongue, over it. Again. Again. Ten seconds. Swish. Until my gums are mint fresh, until my breath burns, until your teeth are Colgate blue and I don’t ever think I could get enough of you. Gentleness is not a strength of mine. I want to break apart your mind, piece by piece, Lego bricks. 

I want to run my fingers over your every surface like the marble countertops of a kitchen showroom. I need to touch you, to see if you’re real. I need to dive into you, to see how deep the murky waters of your mind go. Head first. Tell me, will I break my neck, or is there something to you? 

If curiosity killed the cat then I am long dead. Nine lives. Decimated. Each cigarette we share brings me a little closer to the end. Slow burn. I don’t care. How exciting it is, to get a little sicker with you. Head back, tilt, eyes wide. Laugh. Laugh, at my twisted jokes. Laugh, like you mean it. Laugh at the time froze, blue-grey expanse we find ourselves swimming in every weekend. Isn’t it strange, to be young? All the fucked up things, we do for fun. 

When I was a child, I’d run my hands over my tongue and touch the candy in dispensaries by the cash register. Sugar. Glycerine. Glistening. My mother would give in. I’m disgusting, I’m five and she’s cursing under her breath. Brat. Brat. Germs. 

I’m twenty-one, I’m reminded of my little games and how with you, I do not have the guts to play them. Anticipation. I cannot pick you up and taste you. You are both the object of my intrigue and the devil on my shoulder. Isn’t it always the way? Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest. Sweet pea. Sweet cheeks. Isn’t that girl the meanest? Isn’t that the one you run around, pretending not to chase? Salt, spirit, chaser. Chase her. Fold her neatly, hide away, sweet tooth, save her up for later. 

I was never one for team sports and not much of a spectator. Yet, here I am, seventeen, a limber dream. Wide eyed, obedient, running blades of grass through my teeth, in the sunshine, sidelines, smile. Cheering for a sport that eludes me and a boy I could never wrap my head around. Mud covered, bleeding knees. Mouth guard, heart bare on a numbered jersey. The brutal world of high school rugby. I forget the rules, he reminds me. I forget the world, he lets me. He's showing off, I'm loving it. He spits because that's what men do and later he'll dribble warm saliva down my chin or my thigh and he'll pretend to be a man again. He feels strong, I feel delicate, we love it, we hate it. I’ve developed a taste for it.  

That warm spit taste, that eternal chase. Hazy, young, separate ways. We belong to no one, grappling at straws and now I’m trying to be the one you adore. Another night, another body, another room, another dance floor. Kiss me. Let your mind wander. Pretend I’m him. I’m not real, I’m not there. I don’t love you, I don’t care. We’re just trying to fill the void, chemical tongue, impress the boys. A kiss is not a kiss if we’re dancing. Come a little closer, I know it will never mean something. I just want that sugar rush, cool touch, saliva. I’m tired of standing right beside you. I want that Colgate, candy, cocaine taste. I want to get my fill, satiate. You’re the only thing I crave. Another adulterated night spent looking for that hit. Warm breath, cold sweat. Spit.