Noir

By Frankie Wilkin

 
 

obsidian:

absence of light, of love, empty black hole of star space and unfiltered empty,

filled to the brim with 5pm coffee, papercuts,

velvet chokers, leather boots, sheer shirts,

black cats and witch’s brooms;

 

Magnum packaging, claw marks on backs, broken hearts, your favorite one-night stand,

a stolen black sweatshirt, sports bra straps pulled down shoulders,

winter, sweaters, bleached blond baby boy,

empty toilet bowls, grimy bathroom tile, gatherings of keratin strands on shower walls;

 

your ex-friend’s newly dyed hair, cropped underneath the chin, summer bruises,

the space between your new cat's paws,

the steely sound of metal on metal, the frames of your reading glasses, ripped jeans,

black lace, worn down leather belt, stretched out boxer briefs, yin and yang earrings;

the depth of the words on the page, a book of battered musings, typewriter font,

boxed white wine, boxed dark roast coffee, striped wool socks,

mourning games, bleeding knuckles, broken bones, quiet death in the dead of night,

the presence of light, of truth, vibrating removal of negativity;

obsidian.