psychic night

your hands have never felt skin

that thinks on its own; he intended

to trick time, untick the clock, put

his clavicle on your lips

and you knew.

 

when he reddened your neck

by tracing its shape as if to pin

a map for a land to conquer,

you quivered. A flag waved,

he knew.

 

then slowly he entered

with both a vow for something

and a doubt somewhere—

what’s missing and found,

no one knew.

 

so you stared at the blank wall

as he did, spaced by warm sheets,

wounded alone. Smokes warped

and pried of what’s next.

but who knew?

 

Lorhenz Lacsa is a Filipino writer and poet. With backgrounds in Psychology and Journalism, his works ultimately focus on the human conditions and social issues. He works as an office guy when he’s not bleeding his hands off writing. He’s a little monster.