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Aiki Coxhead | Electric Cereal

Author: Aiki Coxhead

Aiki lives in Madison, Wisconsin. Her work has been published in Purple Pig Lit and Metatron. Follow her on Tumblr and Twitter.

if you say so

a response: voyeuristic
          “only if you want to”
today is a new day but so was
          tomorrow and so will be
does it count if we don’t leave bed until its night
does it count if we don’t see the sky
does it count if our shoes are unworn
if my hands remain pink and fleshy like the
middle class I come from, explaining
          I use these only to love
I tell you I believe in you but you say
          “you cant have that because I
          haven’t given it to you”
because we both know I will get what I want its

bird, mine, october

there is no amount of holy water
I could bathe in or
drink no amount of drinks to
make this
go away
you dont like my face when I am looking in
the mirror so I look only at you
guidance guidance guidance
reminding me to wake up and to
do the dishes and to
clean my sheets
there is no amount of holy water
I could bathe in or drinks I could
to make this go

when it went bad but not quite yet

your smile looks like nicotine poisoning
like shaking hands and trembling lips baby,
watching you talk about things you love makes me want to vomit it makes
each blink feel like sticks
snapping inside my head
the sun is too bright tonight,
someone said this was a birthday party but I didn’t know the guy or anyone so I drank
each beer I could find
I filled my pockets with beer caps and
left them like breadcrumbs a trail to my bedroom
like shining little beacons
for you to follow home
incase you’d missed me and you wanted me I thought they looked like silver dollars
in the 4 am moon on a beach made entirely of salt
but I am no Gretel and this is not folklore nobody
will read about us to their children so I sat
on the curb, in the dark,

I smoked a cigarette; it was not my last one but I felt it carried the same weight

and in the morning they found me cold
with 2 gleaming bottle caps over my eyes
and they traced the trail back one by one plucking up my beacons
little lifelines left for you
murmuring to themselves (it’s such a shame so young)
they wound up
at your door

a bad dream I had about a person I love

I came home and it was six AM and she was still up
sniffing inhalants behind her hair despite
the doctor that said she needed to stop with that shit
(because of her condition)
she shouted to me “I COULDN’T DECIDE WHICH SONG TO PLAY” despite
it being just us she and me and the sun coming up
so all three systems are playing different songs by the cramps despite
her loving
elvis best

long ago/ode to sunday

an ode to sunday:
to each breath I felt you take in when I pulled you inside an ode to sunday and a nod to
melting outside to a cave to a garden an ode to the sounds you make in my neck in my ear to the
way you are so warm when we wake up and how I love to wake up with you an ode to every day
and to the tips of your fingers I could not forget them if I tried in my mouth between my legs a
homage to the hair on your chest and my hands running over it to
walking down the street being the most smitten on the street in a world full of others
I tried to take a shower but I did not want to wash you off
an ode to sunday

fucking under an etching of the virgin mary/ broken glass

after you left me it was significantly less cute
the way you hung thrift shop art on each inch
of every wall of your studio apartment, and the way it stunk of whiskey

the other day my roommate slept on your floor and I thought about
fucking you under the 99 cent etching of the virgin mary and the
broken grandfather clock and the four foot, techni-colour print of a tiger how

the room was full of faces paintings of prince and wooden plaques reading
home is where the heart is
and how

after we finished your eyes always unfocused and you kissed me like honey and
looked like you were going to cry and would whisper into my mouth
I am so happy aiki I am so content kiss me baby kiss me until i
would get goosebumps

but the warm kind
and I would stare at the frame with
the deer in the forest painting which always was my favorite and
say me too baby me too

so I asked her “is the frame with the deer in the forest still there” but before
I could finish i
remembered seeing it on the side of the road outside your
thrift shop studio apartment
after you left me
after I broke the glass
with my fist