I sincerely wish I could efface it.

Drag you an unmarked body of snow

like a dog with a blanket in its jaws.

A tape you don’t have to rewind,

black film clinging to your fingers.

Wouldn’t you like to live in a world 

where I don’t arc our car onto the hinge 

of the ravine? Wouldn’t you like to lay 

in a bathtub without a firework of vomit

drawn across the bottom? You could

sleep through a night that I didn’t

judder you out of, my eyelids half-mast

for violet skies, male shadows, a knife

dangling from the half-clutch of my mouth.

You could raise champagne flutes before

spilling cornucopious, drink with someone

who doesn’t lave at the rim for the last

bit of liquor. Don’t you understand

that you could pry open the bloodied 

gullet of this trap? Yank its teeth 

from the ditch in your thigh? Until then,

my body hovers above yours. We will

pretend that your fingertips skim off

my hips without falling across scars.


Author Bio:

Lake Vargas is a poetry reader at Paracosm Literary Journal and a poetry editor at The Global Youth Review, as well as a contributor for The Jupiter Review. Her micro-chapbook, Bible Stories, was published by Ghost City Press in 2021. She tweets at @lakewrites. More of her work can be found on her Tumblr, @stonemattress