Ashley Mares

A Dream. A Dream.


Not like when rain says
let everything that breaths

drown. More like drowning
in blush colored water. The

color like cheeks of the girl
with the ripped dress. Not

like the color of Margaret’s
perfume. Not a sweet smelling

fragrance. But water like leather
belts striking skin. Highlighting

the way broken fabric hangs
away from the body. Exposing

rushing waters beneath veins.
Water running through fingers

leaving a pink hue where the body
responded most. Like you

tried scrubbing bloodied fabric
and mostly failed. Pink skin

flushed with death. Alive
like you ripple in heartbeats

and limbs and breaths. Like you
breathe on a mirror. No sharp

edges only moist fingertips
wiping away at skin until it

looks different. Like you
embrace me in

rosewater. Let
me be. And you. And you.


Affection

Cover me slowly
in skin and
bring me to my knees.

You say
I have a sweet
taste – licking sugar from

my bones. Inject me with
your blood and tell me how

well we blend. Let me take
your warmth to
ward off

the nightmares.
Dreaming of

blackbirds resting
their wings against

tree branches until
I find them lying
still – wondering

if they’re sleeping or freshly
dead. Only when I’m
mostly whole

am I the object
of your affection. I feel you

chopping away at my
ribs. Taking a blade to my

skin – splitting me in
two – only to realize

it was merely your
fingernails. This
is not a dream.


Ashley Mares’ poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Absinthe Poetry Review, Whale Road Review, Rogue Agent, Hermeneutic Chaos, Whiskey Island, White Stag, and others. She is currently completing her J.D. in Monterey, Ca, where she lives with her husband. Read more of her poetry at ashleymarespoetry.wordpress.com and follow her @ash_mares2.