Laceandpaper - Lace And Paper

Breaking Modus Operandi

Mother, I will not ask if you think

he is good for me. Did you know

that before I met him I was, in fact,

unhappy? Shall I listen to Polaris

to find my way north, find my way home?

The scent of rain wafts so sweet, wafts

so gentle wafts so cold. I will

not even mention how your mate

has devoured you, drowned you in lust.

Are you truly loved? Are you lonely?

Have your prayers been answered?

I have been upset by passing time and

pain and heartbreak and ceaseless rain.

I too have been devoured by false loves.

But now he sings softly in my ear

“I feel that when I’m old I’ll look at you

and know the world was beautiful.”

Mother, whatever you may say,

today the lovely sky is blue, the lovely clouds

are white, and the lovely breeze is cool.

Gas Prices Skyrocket

He bluffed, “It’s the cheapest you’ll find a vintage sports car.”

She huffed, “It looks rather new for a vintage sports car.”

Love for the ages: soft, steady, slow, and sweet, or a

flame: fast, beautiful, and deadly, like a vintage sports car.

Pulling off her shirt she felt revealed, reviled, repulsive,

telling herself it’s not trashy if you do it in a vintage sports car.

Cherry red, blood red, red wood. Scattered under moonlight.

On the accident report they called it a vintage sports car.

Heaven forbid honesty! Hide your feelings, your secrets,

undercover. Like in the driveway, a vintage sports car.

Status symbols: a Rolex watch, a million bucks, a

yacht in the bay. Trade your wife for a vintage sports car.

The past thrown away, left to rot and not be remembered.

Left to decompose in a junkyard next to a vintage sports car.

Lost, lonely, loveless? Ditch the club, forget online dating.

One thing that can never leave you: A vintage sports car.

To escape your problems you must run far away.

My suggestion? Zero to sixty in a vintage sports car.

A gold-digging robbery! Get away with his money, his heart,

a license plate reading RAY-RAY on a vintage sports car.

Lust Song

Is that love in your eyes, or are you just happy to

see me? Me, naked above you, beneath you,

around you. My bible lies open in the backseat,

Samson and Delilah. My legs clench your waist,

pulling you closer, deeper, further into this

stark truth: there’s no hiding from you now.

Every inch of me bare, my ugly flaws and

rosy lies, sketched across my inner thighs.

Am I good for a game? Love and sex are not

the same. There’s nothing to see here past

the hills and valleys of dimples and curves.

New Years Eve - Rachel Schneider

Medium:

Prismacolor Pencils and Sharpie on Paper

Tentative Tango

One, an unfamiliar smile

I don’t know how to understand.

Fingertips brush my waist, hem

of shirt, pale skin untouched

by sun. Hot breath on my ear,

body to body. Hand resting

in the small of my back. I want to

not want you as much as I do.

Two, palm runs down my side

breast to thigh. Breathe your sharp

scent. Gasp for forgiveness. Push

away, pull me close, make me

melt into seductive warmth.

Mold to match your form.

I am in over my head, and I

like not being able to breathe.

Three, tempo moves too fast,

past the barrier that was your

car door. Pressed to you,

horizontal, clothing optional.

I can’t keep up with four/four time.

Wonder if Eve knew what she

was getting into. Did she know

fear before the fruit?

Four, I can’t understand myself.

Fear, frustration, desire, despair,

give me room to breathe, I’m not

ready to go without air, not ready

to take that bite, not ready to

want you. My skin aches as you

pull away, disappointed. I guess

I don’t know how to dance.

Glass Bottle Wrapped in Cloth - Rachel Schneider

Medium:

Graphite on Bristol Paper

Que Sera, Sera

The vanilla-cinnamon scent of your sweat lingers

as your lips taste the salty-sweet strawberry of my thighs,

pale pink against the dark upholstery of your car.

The shadow of the church steeple looms outside,

casting fiery judgment as your hot breath finds the place

it is needed most. Gasps drown out the crickets chirping

in the warm spring night among the dandelions and

wildflowers. We are lost together, happy to wander

hand in hand. You catch my breath and I lose your mind.

Intertwined and indistinguishable, finding our way

through unfamiliar territory. Skin against

skin, heart to heart, I grasp you tight.

You take me there.

Handle With Care

An inevitable conclusion

looms just out of sight of

my weak and wondering

eyes. Either we will last

forever or we will burn,

crash to the ground in

ugly flames of sulfur and

shame. Goodbye, good

bye, hello, goodbye. No

more farewells I beg,

either stay or go. My heart

cannot handle one more

hello just to end in another

goodbye. If I let you go it

will surely break. Please,

stop these mistakes that I

am too fragile to take.

The Boy That Never Was

There’s a candle in my window for

the boy who never was.

It flickers just as brightly as

the laughter in his eyes. The warmth

inside his heart is matched by nothing

but the flame, and the tiny drips

of melted wax, intricate as his mind.

The candle burns to mourn this boy,

the one I could have loved.

He may have lived - this boy, indeed.

But mine he never was.