( excerpted from)
Mr. Sip Temptation
I'm only old enough ta ride
But you're old enough ta drive now.
Put me in that car.
That red one over there.
And take me somewhere.
Away from here.
Because my home
Has always been
Wherever you hold me.
Do you remember?
Me even younger.
My night jitters.
And them piss scars.
The ones that set your taste.
Our arms, tied around each other in the knots.
Me swallowed in your bliss.
And askin the lord if I could die before I wake.
Almost every time.
Too many times.
Ta the wetness. To the sog.
Wet on the bed. Wet on me. Wet on you.
My shame cry.
You, jus the little boy you.
Your pat on the back "be alright’s.”
A towel down. A slip off of our damp pants.
Back inta our tangle.
Cool damp skins warmin up ta warm.
Your warmth. Your smell. Your heartbeat. My favorite song.
Brewin in my brew.
Them cold nights turnin ta warm nights.
Them bad night turnin ta good nights.
Me. You. Us.
The way it's always been..
Us against that hand we was dealt.
Them day hot nights
The locust choir.
The Zingo. You and me front row like always. You and your roller coaster, swirly tummy spew.
The up chuck rain shower towards the back. The screamin horror behind us.
You pukin and laughin.
Just us two. Siblins of the state.
The Gypsie duo. Mommy and daddy jus them ghosts in our hearts.
Us. Each other’s everything
Us. Each other’s only thing.
Us gettin older. Times a runnin out.
The cute rubbin off.
The foster parent shuffle.
Us a hard sell.
Group housing stints a constant.
Me. A sneak down the hall.
A crawl inta your bed.
A fall inta your tangle.
A drown inta your tangle.
And the feel of that lonely cold kiddy pound dyin all around me.
All around us.
That place, that horrible place that broke spirits.
That crushed souls.
That place that could break me.
That place that could break you.
But that place that could never break us.
Could never break us.
And in the wake.
And in the wet.
And in that scent.
That piss simmer.
My wake ya up confessions.
Your sleepy, slow eye open.
Your little boy slow ta form groggy smile.
Your I don't care’s.
Your pull in. Your hold me tighter.
Your love for me. Your love for the piss soaked me.
My shame dying through you.
Your love for me real.
And your taste aquirin.
W.A Coleman is a freelance writer based out of Tulsa, Ok. His work has been featured in The Evergreen Review, Los Angeles Review, Houston Literary, Thrice Fiction, Typehouse Magazine and many more. His first collection was published in 2014.