For the fourth time
since July 29

I watered your
Heinz 57

neglect again
count on being chained.

She sat on the carpet with a bowl of Lucky Charms
on her lap watching ******-Doo when she
swiveled and asked, “Why do I have
a cleft palate?” Before I could
respond she sang,  “Frosted
Lucky Charms, They’re
Magically Delicious,”
and flipped

to the Flintstones.

I like poems that smell of milk
that is about to curdle. Not with
enough bacteria to **** you, but
enough to make you wince
and heave. Spoiled
sufficiency you

want to apologize to God
or at least explain every
despicable thing you
knew of and did not

stop.

As a boy growing up in rural Iowa
I thought love was curve of neck,
tone of voice, hang of breast,
thick of hair, length of step,
temperature of hand, hue
of skin, size of soul;
I still think so.

he likes to call me dollface

and i let him unravel my threads,
because i'm not quite porcelain like he seems
to think - more so a rag doll, yarn for
hair, buttons for eyes, soft and
easy.

we started as a series of stolen things:
glances, secrets, moments in a walk-in freezer,
and i keep wondering how that all led us
here, stealing time as
he lights a bowl and i
dance circles in his living room

all the while he is watching
like he is in a museum, and i am
art behind a glass to
stare at, never
touch

he reaches out and falls short,
calls me over but never follows through,
pulls my threads and
sews me up again
each time
he calls me
dollface

On a night like today, in a sea of shadows and whites, we ride thick on a camel toed carousel, tainted and unlocked, unkempt and hollow, we shake to the cores of your features, deep pallets of staining whites, we lay afraid and assuming, ready for something to roll deep beneath these  peppercorn brownie sheets. We dive shallow beneath assuming depths. Angled, silver octopus, arms stretched below your sea urchin ways. I wait infantile, an ever aging fetus floating through your chromosomes, very full and very hungry. This could be a stifling kind of like , but here I roam, free abd unnerving lushing down your spine

Sometimes when you’re at a cafe
you wonder if the person sitting
next to you would be a better
lover than you’re accustomed
and then you think the person
might give you a gift of a shirt
or advice that could renew you
or provide much insight into
your bumbling life. That’s
when pragmatism takes you
a step backward and away
from the  polished counter
and out the door to ponder
that the person sort of looks
like a long lost relative.