Poetry by Liam Ryan Dooley
It really is a lot like chocolate syrup.
Not as sweet, of course.
I licked my fingers after helping you up,
practically second nature.
They have that same consistency,
a delectable stickiness,
and it acts the same too,
flowing from bottles and heads.
I gagged when I tasted pennies instead of sugar.
It’s hard to say what lingered most.
The shower tiles are still stained brown.
For days I smelled nothing but blood and bleach,
long after we’d fumigated.
I can’t stand to see your scar trailing temple to brow,
but you open it wide for me every night.
You stare at me, begging.
It’s getting harder to resist you,
to climb inside
and see how deep it goes.
