A Half Forgotten Memory of the Train Tracks in Puget Sound

I've been busy
too busy to write.

I'm too busy loving you to write you the love poems you deserve.

I'm too busy working so I can have money to buy you the things you like to write you the love poems you deserve.

But I'm going to continue loving you,
continue kissing and holding you,
I'm going to continue being yours.
I'll never be too busy to love you.

Who needs love poems when you're in love?

so I brought my writer wife
(prominently pregnant)
to the hospital
and on her bed, she screamed:
"weren't" "hasn't" "couldn't" "shan't"
"aint" "hadn't" "you're" "isn't"
"aren't" "didn't" "wasn't"
"who's?" "what's?" "he's" "she's"

The doctors were confounded
and they turned to me and they said:
"What the hell is she doing?"

And I replied with double speed
and a violent sense of urgency:
*"Don't you know?
She's having contractions -
she's a writer"

Feeling so tired but i can't sleep
isnt that a ******* cliche?
suffocating feelings that would make me weep
but holding onto every word you say

Your hand print on my hipbone
a bite mark on your neck
tonight we wont feel alone
and we sure as hell wont forget

But for the nights your lover is a cigarette
and the kiss of death is one you love
it's not her you want, i'll take that bet
it's not her you're thinking of