Nonchalant, like a toddler who pulls your hair out of your scalp with strong, damp little fists.

Nostalgic, like wet carpet and dusty, musty, summer camp drawers.

Ticklish, like a scratch you can't itch that seems to live just between your collar bones and your chin on the thinnest part of your skin.

Bitter sweet, like days old, left over red.

Whole, like cows milk ripe with chewy, sticky cream still hot from her utters.

Bright, like sunset on a day that you never wanted to end, haunting the night that you never thought would begin.

She reaches again
and finds it.
Ah, yes, there,
Swept under the rug.

Your psyche would shatter,
Your veins turn blue,
Your bones surely would melt into glue,
Just a glimpse of the dreamscape of my year without you,
The magic moments in my mind,
Would burn out your eyes and leave you blind.
Your heart would wrench.
Your throat would catch.
And vengeance would never be mine.

I’m never ***** anymore 
I used to drip onto the floor
Libido was higher, more, my core.

But I suppose, no, it was not.
Because it waned 
Yet 
I remained.
Yet
I miss being effortlessly wet.

I know, I know
It’s in my head. 

But maybe mostly it’s the bed?

Say, what’s different about my bedding?
Is it that I had a wedding?
And now,
Linens my sister gifted my ring and I
Sacrificed
Sprawled beneath some other guy
Another lover

Oh! dear, I’ve blown my cover.
Oh poor dear, my mother.
I'm a disgrace,
A divorce, at my age?

So, is that what stole my soak?

You know, you shouldn't marry a man,
You don't really know.

Is that what dried my dripping *****,

A quick ****,
From a new husband,
Who wouldn't hear no.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Far too simple for my psyche

When it’s no longer that contrast
The purple and blue and brass
I can’t grasp

When nothing’s juxtaposed
When there’s nothing to compare
When I’m naked and no one but me’s there

There’s you