three poems by xtx

Can I Get a Witness?
I didn’t tell you
(but I almost did)
how when you were eating out my ass
last Friday,
my face full of bats and balls,
your ginormous crucifix,
the one on your necklace,
was knock knock knocking on heaven’s door
(as one might say when trying not to be crude)
It was cold and heavy and wrong.
Made me feel bad for Jesus
tapping against my wet nethers
like a Sunday sidewalk soliciting
Jehovah
trying to get a witness
 
 
I Am Trying To Imagine What You Smell Like
which is completely true but
the first smell I took myself into was
a man’s and oh
how I wanted to stay there but then
I reminded myself

You are no man

(LOTR reference)

I had to start over
(this is new for me)
I closed my eyes
my nose at your neck
lips slightly parted and
brushing
omg

Baby powder and
Euphoria
(yes, I cheated)

Every inch of you a woman but
I think I could get used to that
as long as you
can change your hands
from strong
to gentle
and back again
when I least expect it
or
every
time
I
beg
 
 
I Can Help You With That Math Problem Or At Least Stem the Bleeding
You’ve probably made
that face
hundreds of times
thousands maybe

(I don’t know how ‘active’ you are)

A face you’ve made
but
have never seen

probably

I mean,
I’ve never seen
the face
I make

cuz

my eyes are mostly

always

closed

like how they say
you can’t
sneeze
with your eyes
open

I often
imagine how
my face
might look
maybe like a
cross between

a shooting victim and

how one might look
when faced with
an exceptionally difficult
math problem

sort of an

intense

screaming

pained

expression

neck arched and often
thrashing
mouth contorted
with whatever words or
sounds
it’s attempting to make
or hold on to or
release uncontrolled

a beautiful ugly

But who the fuck cares, right?
I mean, you’re fucking cumming, right?

Like, this one time
I was getting pounded I’m
talking

ankles by my ears

bed banging the walls

capital P

pounded

and just when me
and him were about to
finish
the fucking fire alarm
in our apt. building
goes off

we kept going

in the red hot blare

until our mouths
bit thru
each other’s shoulders
while making
our respective
faces

gunshot wounds

e equals mc ohmygod

Panting, he goes,
Guess we should get out of here, right?
lips full of my blood
the smell of smoke
there or not there
We should get some band aids maybe, I say
tasting his blood
in my mouth

(Don’t worry,
nobody burned or
blackened.)

So yeah,
the face you make
whatever it looks like;

above me

below me

behind me

I wanna see it.

xTx is a writer living in Southern California. She has been published in places like PANK, Hobart, Smokelong, Monkeybicycle, Storyglossia, >Kill Author and Wigleaf. Her new story collection, “Normally Special,” is available from Tiny Hardcore Press. She says nothing at www.notimetosayit.com