Porcelain

Sitting alone on your bar stool throne
Cold unseeing eyes tilted
Your wasted arms stretch and entwine
Then hold you motionless
Chalk-white, you seem to fill the room
Spilling out from behind that fragile cage
Of a body that would be perfect.
Bloodied lips, bitten with anticipation
And still you remain defiant
Paper like fingers, thin as cigarettes
Curled round your imaginary wounds
It hurts me just to watch you

Sitting alone with the memory of you
My underweight beauty
Attracting and repulsing me in turn
Holding you is easy
Running my fingers down your spine
Your hungry eyes flitting and darting
And then settling on mine
Scarlet lips, trembling with anticipation
Taste me for the first time
Arms that collapse gladly into nothingness
Shameless as you give in to stronger desires
How softly I would break you