Not even a year since that photo was taken,
how much joy and identity was living within
graceful, limber inter-twinings;
the fresh breeze of womanly motion
Now, I have to put her away,
cover her with
wool coats
closed lips
polite smiles
Regurgitating reasons over and over
do not help and do not belong
Redefining the sound and taste of a soul mate
replace with comfort in growing old together
The only problem is, that I am not old yet
and the in between still matters

Should writers live alone?
I asked, when we had the conversation
for the 102nd time about my fierce
independence, his continual hurt feelings
and boy grabbing onto mommy's skirt occasions.
I am daydreaming more and more often now
wishing to god that I still had my own place
and did not have to share my rooms, inward and outward.
Could he just stop talking?
Instead of cream, I'd like some silence with my coffee.
Doesn't he have anything better to do
besides watching me try to read this book?
God, I can be a ******* Einstein:
"I will send for you when I want you"
I hate this in me when I see his eyes flinching
but some days, I fight for it
the war of the independent introvert
not so docile, a loner, as one might suppose.

I have two cigarettes
and a clip
left-
and no money
for more.
****.

when i was ten i believed kissing was
only between two people deliriously in love.
when i was fifteen, i believed holding hands would
only make me throw up, and when a boy wanted to watch
you watch him play video games, it was considered
romantic.

do puppies fall in love? for my ears are floppy
for you and my tail hasn’t stopped wagging since
november.
if i could be your jellyfish i’d hover between your
bones, tangling my tentacles through your
mane, stinging you with limp
currents.

i’m wishy and washy, crawling through
tie-dye dreams and licking clean pasta
bowls. i always thought second best was
enough, and when i was eighteen bruises were
proof. ideas were stuck in my brain cells. i bit my lips
until dead skin cells tasted like ketchup.

i’m creeping through your marrows,
gnawing, gnawing, gnawing.
******* until my tongue is lead,
aching for your teeth tearing through
my flesh,

i could be your jellyfish. you told me about one that lives
forever.
i’ll keep floating, if you keep
watching.

if i am a cloud, than you are
the bolts between the vapors.
with wool spinning between my canines,
i’m eating the white fluff like cotton candy.
your flares ***** holes through my dripping
crystals.
cumulus merging with stratocumulus,
cherry hues making love with
sunset oranges.
if i am a cloud, than you are the rain
droplets resting within me,
the sun rays shaking and quacking in
me

you pulled the pearls tighter upon
my throat and maybe it was the alcohol,
or the way your tongue fit between my teeth
too perfectly,
but i swear i could see our atoms colliding together,
and i wanted our explosions
to fill the night sky with asteroids
and shooting
stars.

he, perched upon,
the swing's
seat.
like
a little bird, just,
waiting,
waiting,
for some-one to,
give him a gentle push.

and then he could arc,
back and forth,
by himself,
and
fly up into the clouds.
laughing in joyful
fear,
and exuberation.

but,
until then, he perched,
waiting,
waiting.
dreaming, of  unfettered
flight.