An Aftertaste of Cranberry Inside the Contradiction Constellation

I kept searching for you,
inside of the codes and bibliographies we knew by heart.
It was just a matter of time before the bloodlust couldn’t be contained-
and I knew it was true
when you were found inside the lab,
making out with the fake skeleton,
fingers interlaced with the ribs
lipstick marks against the plastic bone.
(How I wished they were on my skin instead).
I mean,
I always knew you weren’t of this world of mine
when you’d stare into the stars
telling me in hushed tones
what life used to be.
Part of me always wanted to have been able to see it first hand.
After all we knew the mountains wouldn’t hide us forever.
Each tree tells a story and they are prone to share.
The seeds are being dug up and the roots are overturned.
Their boots are leaving tracks in the fragile grass
and the dogs can sniff my perfume easily enough.
I escaped the same way
you entered my life,
jumping from my window into a waiting tree branch
shaking my knees when I landed on the ground.
(Sometimes I keep my window unlocked, in case you return).
I let my blood lead me away
into your hungry mouth,
and your blood stained hands
against the pitch black background
of the constellations
that are slowly dying out.
I’ll press my veins into the bones
to imprint the image
and to leave a reminder:
I was here.
So that when you’re found
trailing your fingertips against my collarbone
everyone will know
and there will be no need to cause alarm.

What are you looking for?