last blues on red hands by Charlotte Covey
the ocean stayed
silent; waves quiet, sand
still. windows half-opened made the world
blur— soft light, longing to
kiss my skin. your hands
on the steering wheel, paled
under pressure, a vein in your forehead,
teeth biting down on your
tongue. you washed over me, & i left
musty indoor air, ripped upholstery,
climbed down rocks & shells
to the place where the sand is
wet. it was the first of the
year; i held my
breath, standing at the water's
edge. i wonder if you were
watching me. wonder if you
drew blood when you bit, the way you
drew a circle on my neck with
your mouth. i wonder if you scrubbed
the stains left on the passenger
seat— rusted red, dripped from slits on
dimpled knees made with drunken
fingers & sharpened nails.
Charlotte Covey is from St. Mary's County, Maryland. She is currently a senior studying Creative Writing and Psychology at Salisbury University. She has poetry published or forthcoming in journals such as Salamander Magazine, Slipstream, The MacGuffin, SLAB, and The Summerset Review. She is co-editor-in-chief of Milk Journal.