--I HAVE TO TRUST SOMEONE AND IT MIGHT AS WELL BE YOU
I am the black
You left behind
On the love seat
Love no longer an option
My yarn is tight
Fine Egyptian cotton
Top stitched and fully-fashioned.
It used to sit or swish
Inside of me
Against my limbs and lengths
My sleeves and being
You took me places
Kept me clean
Now I am a heap of yarn
Smelling of your perfume
Reeking rust and
The water hums
White and chalky like a mummy
Needing to strangle or smother someone,
Butterscotch sun is a bored voyeur.
Eagles shop for fish or a dense duckling.
The wounded are all out for a swim
But you know better,
Or think you do.
Glass and beams separate
The outside air the earth the real world.
Inside you’ve designed another planet.
With a regal crown
While wearing your bathroom gown
You suck down dust and plankton
Your lips twist, burning like an oven coil.
All this ugliness suits you.
God is the boy with the sharp sixth grade kiss.
Dancing is for fools.
Scent of cauliflower and death
Wear shadows on the wall
And no one would have it any other way
Least of all you.