I wanted to once more
return on Home; to stand
upon the front-porch, hand-crafted
by a Supreme knowledge of your skin.
To ignite the necessary ember to fuel
the fire behind your eyes; to linger
in the door frame as a way to embolden
that birthmark I always encouraged upon
your, half-swollen heart.

I wanted to Unconsciously return again to a singular
dependence on your five-o-clock laugh
or upon the fact that my ******* always saluted the
way your *** got zipped up in those Levi's, all the
way up, to your Blue Collar.

I haven't been able to
shake off your Novelty; travelling
the World and devouring boys
like you, in stale rooms and motionless autos,
where their skin made me Itch, and left nothing but
bed bug souvenirs to nestle in my brain. *(It's not their
fault that lavender and cotton, never
smelled as good on a girl like me)