Pancaked
after the winding of the day
I give thanks to dribble
out of buttons
pour out of pants
melt down and bake
and bake and bake
until rising with
buttery warmth
Nothing knew our bodies
Quite like that tan, dingy couch
That tan, dingy couch
that clutched our jittery bones
as we sat a great distance apart
asking question
after question
building inventory
to later address as we ended
our first date.
That tan, dingy couch
That witnessed our interwoven bodies
as we heard one of my roommates
insert her key and press open the door
So I quickly rolled from your body
to the floor
That tan, dingy couch
That held you while you held me
And we drained hours of movies
That had to be rewound
and paused and started again
until we gave up on movies and
gave in to one another
That tan, dingy couch
That offered no support
as we struggled to connect
No matter how many words
We used to clarify
“I’ve never felt more misunderstood”
I remember screaming through tears
As you sat there, staring,
Looking at me like I was already gone.
We didn’t talk for three days.
I wrote you a letter.
You stopped by
and the first thing you did was unplug
Your ps3.
Then you sat down on that tan, dingy couch
And began to cry.
While I sat next to you
Speechless
letter in hand
freshly aware
that the decision had been made
without me.
someday
with our aching knees
where all the life
has drained and left us
cold and tired and old
we’re going to tell our kids
that we were so close
to something better than this
hoping that they don’t ask
what we did to try and stop
the things that kept running
in all the wrong directions
She loves fresh lipstick being opened
The sheer satisfying sound of it being rolled out of
that tube
She lives for that moment
That gentle press of the lipstick on her tiny lips
The creamy finish, the perfect line against her
pale skin
The way it lays on her lips
Mattes and Frosts
They fill out those lips like 10lbs of sugar in a
5lb sack
Reds, Maroons. and Deep Navy Blues
Anything to just steal a glance
To be hers, to be yours
Metal
jammed into crooked teeth
nightly
to keep them in line.
Forced
into the roof of the mouth
causes pain.
A routine is necessary
for metal and enamel
to understand
their relationship.
Like you and I
the two cannot be pushed.
If only you would realize
the pain
of your “attempts.”
i am fourteen, but no one covers that belly cough.
screen white in window-slat-high-school dark,
desk rows slanted, all torn up and circled round.
colors sing it’s anime club,
so
let’s watch a
shelled-out torso,
well of core,
spill across the pavement.
Snowden-style ropes of child wave and wink with blood.
why balk at a five-second-misery?
it’s just five seconds
out of many worse and worse seconds.
i am fourteen and fourteen. i think sometimes
of an asphalt hunch and what it looks like to bend down and
neatly
fold up your intestines, hold up your intestines to your heart.
the cat yawns
she is never fully rested
always looking for another warm bed
it seems that is
the best metaphor I can make
for always being up too late
tick tick tick
music from another room
is never loud enough
to drown out the clock
if only I were a cat
