Spilled Secrets

We stay up until late
it is a girly room
with coffee and spiced tea
we sip seated in chairs the color of faded peaches
the color of summer sky
the color of old letters with words which rot
from being forgotten
she is near me at times
absorbed in a hidden scene
which plays behind slightly parted lids
pupils frozen onto dancing lights 
which seep into the living room
through the glass windows we forgot to curtain
her voice grows somber and deeper
until laughter labile fills her lung again
rich and soft, with holes in it
where sadness poked
the laughter of a woman,
where hides the sob of the girl
and the stoicism of the wise
she drowns the all of it with spirits
and scented smoke from the incense sticks
we buy for twenty cents
from the store around the corner
where young girls, black-haired and dark-eyed,
sell spell books and tarot cards.

candles burn until her walk staggers
I roll herbs and cigarettes we ash on broken glass 
litanies and whispers rise
coerced by a mysterious force, memories subdue the mind
and wrestle the heart to speech
she tells me of a lover who came here only once
she tells me of the one who ran away
and left her with heart and thoughts mudded 
life has not been the same since

dig up words and stories
wounds and battle scars
I find anything broken to say
so that she feels not as broken
my words drip and cover her
as a wing over sorrow

The sun comes up slowly
finds our bodies laid into haven, temporary.
a women’s fort in the living room
in here our secrets hang 
over us as a chandelier kaput
as a garden barren 
like lips stains stick to a collar
I feel grey this morning
as if I was the taste of wine 
turned sour under yellow clouds.

Like what you read? Give Kissa Ramones a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.