you left a sock and
it is now under my bed,
one of the socks that you left
after a night of close elbows
and hands,
it is under my bed and i will
keep it until we are staring
into space,
legs criss-cross
knees so close
your skin tempting me,
i will keep it until
you breathe short hot breaths
from your nose,
until you refuse to look
me in the eyes
and refuse to hold
my hand,
quivering from thoughts
in my head
that you’re not erasing
with words,
only then will i take
it out and hand
it to you, knowing
full and well
when you left it here

We played tic-tac-toe
on your knees and God
didn't even strike us down.

We were driving down the two-lane
highway that stretched the length
of a nature preserve. It was mucky
and humid and the gnats coated
the outside of our car. We made
a wrong turn and I wanted to swim
in the thick water. Cut to: my house
in the future, your house, with large
windows to let the sun in. We had
every kind of pet and the bird
hated us so we let it go. I had this
kitten and we went to a bookstore
where I found my favorite author's
novel and he wrote me inspiring,
witty notes. I didn't buy it though.
I can't remember who you were.

my heart wants to break
but the muscles won’t allow it
the muscles that i made
with my cells
not that i mean to take credit
but when did my body
start using its secret messages
to betray and withold emotion from me

my heart wants to break
but it can’t
how much longer until
my body’s electricites
travel and tire of this
constant need (want?) to fall
                                             apart

I thought, you. And then I stared and wished that I was back
in your line of sight, that time that you tried to
take a photo of me and I held up my hand. You had never
even touched it. It was deemed artsy and you used
me to pick up chicks who thought you were creative. The many
times I thought yes, and felt yes from you too. But all
we did was stare and I want to touch your Greek hair just
once. And I sold smiles and sweets to strangers while
you gave out pop and judgements. How comedic, how blase.
How soon could I get you to never stop thinking about me?

You’re wearing my favorite shorts today,
the red ones with embarrassing paint stains.

They’re your favorite too, since
you’re in them at least four times a week.

A recurring event, like your tendency to stop
emotion for a brief second.

That was the time the radio played the same five songs
every hour.

We embraced on sheets that I did not buy,
that you did not buy.

Twirling our feet in semi-permanent
interior paint, light ocean breeze.

Through the grocery store, down aisles of food
we’ll never try, because spaghetti is just so **** good.

I didn’t want to go in but you convinced me that it was a must.
We live the essence of the shop; we are the year-round tourists.
The aisles were too close and you weren’t enough. My sunburnt
shoulders touched hanging cotton and beads and masks and I tried
on that skimpy sequined top that made me look like a popstar. You
said, ooh la la. You said, say something to me in French [Je ne t’aime
plus.] Then laughed, wandering toward the snow globes. You held
it with such care and I wanted to be kissed in one, one that you held,
precarious, in your goofy hands. With cuticles I always try and
push back, like you with the wisps in my face. But why, your eyes
are the oceanside town and I want to put them in the snow globe,
you said while watching the fake flakes fall.