Brandon Teena

Your lips still glisten with the sin of adultry; i remember the first time i kissed you.
Promising between awkwardly timed breaths that he would never have to know.
He'll never know.
He'll never know.

For one night only, our makeshift cover fort served as a Garden of Eden.
She who comes from Adam's rib, serpent tounge, waggling, Macintosh resides between my thighs...eat me.
Hickies strewn across my neck like your grandmother's pearls; I Am Yours.

His eyes burrow into my soul, as if he knows something i dont.
I think he knows.
I think he knows.

One night stands on frilly pink pillows, turn into, two night stands on your parent's bed that turn into, three night stands at the Quality Inn, that turn into, oh damn, just not giving a fuck, putting our bedroom scenes on display at a local park.
Everybody knows.
Everybody knows.

I knew it.
I knew it was you, before anybody said anything about nothing.
I knew.
The faint gleam of Lucifer's smile behind his eyes said everything before his mouth did.

"I killed that bitch!"

Everything goes black.

My eyes are closed, yet i can still see you clear as day.
I'm resting my head on your shoulders, our intertwined legs dangle, hanging beneath the porch swing.
We laugh.
Steady day dreaming about owning that karaoke bar down in Memphis.
We smile.
Perfecting our accents, preparing for the move.
We let our words roll from our mouths, smooth and slow, like Southerners do.

I open my eyes.
He stands there.
Still.
With the blood of you on his hands.

I walk away, smiling, because he could never be you.

© Malix Mechü

[This poem is based on the flim "Boys Don't Cry"]