Nostalgic kind of love
The kind that hurts kinda nice
In the sweet places

It feels old and familiar
Worn out
It doesn’t keep you warm anymore
But you love it for its wrinkles and holes

Sugar sweet
Like a pinup girls pouty lip
In a magazine from the 40s

Something is wrong with it
But it looks nice

And now
On quiet nights
It comes to you
Unexpected

‘I hope I’m welcome’ it says
As it seduces my psyche
As it takes my cheek in its palm
As it looks into my eyes and soothes the pain that it brings.

So many, many changes
In my lady palace, in my pink wallpapered hall,
You see, now I wish to know your middle initial.

You see, it's your chest hair that captivates me
On your face I ruminate
And it's your side eye sugar smile that slumbers on the suede side of my soul,
Especially when we found this new fold
a shape all knees and elbows
tucked up and out and in
a shape with my breast on your rib
and your thigh beneath my shin
all skin on skin
it's that love makin'
that a softer me would want to swim in.

Maybe I'm soft again
Maybe I should let myself lick you

"Let myself"? A world where soft desires reign?
Maybe it's not the initial I want to store away in my brain,
I actually just want to know your middle name.

I’m good.
No, but like
Really
Really good.

I hated your stiff ankles
Really really really hated them
I loved you
But I hated
Those ankles

Stiff, unmoving.
Like bricks, you said.

I labored for two years
Every time I saw you
And
Them

Cursed ankles.
Stiff and plasticy skin.
Freckles that weren’t freckles.
Burns that weren’t burns

Failure to coax
those muscles into relaxing
Failure to ******
the tendons into lengthening
Failure to ease
that joint into movement

But
I did like how my thumb fit behind
Your ankle bone.

What to do with the hum-drum, mundane, been done?

That no longer comforts, rests easy or pauses.

Now only exciting excites
Nothing bites quite as it might
Have when I was up all night
Dancing,
Now it’s poetry and mirrors that
Charm
Me

But thinking of that sweet drunk girl dancing on her toes at midnight with a stranger...
AH!
There it is.

A new mundane for my new old brain to charm when clouds won’t let go their rain.

Isn’t the wasp
Who acts like a bee
More a bee than the bee
Who all day, only has to be