my half smile directed at a window,
long, dulcet pause.
a woven throw around bare shoulders,
I adjust my strapless bra.
i’m mussed enough to form new creases,
stretch my tousled jaw
into a long yawn.
I can see your long trail of spit
glisten lightly like snow,
from elbow to the scar underneath my
I wipe it on the pillowcase.
my lips are sand dry,
my knuckles crack a bit,
toes are curled for a different reason
emptied and see
your shadow growing larger:
an elongated feeling that stretched and stretched and
it met mine:
toss a look over brawn shoulder.
I’m no feast, you know,
but you wait with a winter hunger
for that hot spot to hit the ground:
linger, drizzle, moist and green
and all blue skies,
some sunflowers, bees offer the bottom of
their black bellies
and you take all the honey you can get.
sniff a tulip,
sniff an entire magnolia forest,
feast on cool breezes of me
when I’ll have it.
I cough or sneeze
and no make no motion to ever be eaten;
to ever be haunted,
to ever grow something from the arm
you licked that used to hold little butter knives
hold scissors towards me and
think about it,
hold shot glasses to not;
where i used to force myself to hug my brother
and nights now, days too,
I etch his name everywhere it fits;
where you watched the sun
shadowplay with branches on my olive skin
and you mistook them for fingers to grab,
where i stretched myself,
a bored tiger, and lifted my once
impaled bones, my once river bones,
(wet for it every time)
up, held my hand up,
nails long and dry,
held your gaze,
waved without change in expression,
your back to the door.
me sitting up in a fetal position;
see my profile reflected in the
dusty whites of your eyes
as you stare for the first time.
I have developed a new shade:
smudged green eyeliner and
the rest some kind of
“how they leave,