Here’s the bouquet you say you deserve

After all that you’ve been through
Here are some flowers

Symbolic of whatever
I couldn’t care less

It’s on the table next to the dinner that you said I never cook

Off center is a hallmark card about how I don’t love you enough
But should

We are stagnant like holy water
Which is stage three in the second half of a relationship  
according to Knapp’s Model

I did the math and researched the reasons why we don’t work anymore

Here is the math

Sometimes

I is less than or equal to U

Not that

I could or ever should be greater than U

|But I want our equality to not be a battle to maintain|

We don’t need each other anymore

I don’t need you like I don’t need teeth in my *******

And you don’t need me
Like an extra head on your shoulder hanging so heavy

So here are your flowers
Here is your dinner
Here is you apology letter to the both of us
For how long it took for me
To tell you to go

It’s simple math

It’s 20 minutes over dinner in silence
+3 bags I’ve packed for you
+1 20 minute drive to your friend’s house

It’s the remainder of me
When the fractions don’t fit
And I want to be whole

This is me becoming whole

The square root of dying to an over-exaggerator

Maybe you deserve flowers

I deserve to deal with life in whole numbers

I’ve fallen from your fractions
Been rounding out my edges
And I’m almost done

Now go

And leave me to the simple math of being alone

"Seriously man,
green cat eyes.
I kept losing myself
in them.
I don't know."

But what is it.

"Like when they look,
they really look.
You get me?
Think a sun's ray
in a dusty room,
like that,
but green."

There's more.
How can I put it.

"And her nose,
man it's the smallest
cutest nose I've ever seen.
And you don't doubt it,
because she's probably
never even lied.
How could she?
What with those green eyes."

Beauty is truth etc. Well it's not.
And this pub ain't no place
for pottery.

"And her hair man, her hair.
It's so curly, all tangled up
and wild. But my fingers
run through smooth.
And she purrs man."

I want to rub her belly.

"Ahhhh I just..
I just.. I don't know really.
I just can't get away from
those green eyes."

Such empty words.
Just the skeletal sounds.
I'm missing that sun and moon
and bluest blue. But I think he understands.
We all do when someone is really trying
but just can't,
when expression moves inward.

"I don't know man."

i refuse to do what i'm told

shovel the driveway

why?
the snow's not doing anyone any harm
the concrete is no less cold
when bare
and buffeted by small, stamping feet

I rode again the horse cover
of night, where indiscrete yearnings
cast doubt upon the aerial
flagellate of milk spumed stars.
A jealous denial: their
froth no terrestrial hide.
How strange to imagine the stars want skin,
or kin,
and must think that I touch you
as if without consequence
moving my hands
from peals of belles to petals,
stamen, the flower unfolding
one cupped nautilus
full of a prismatic wanting.
This is how I learned that something larger
than me speaks in echoes
stands at vital distance
a shiver in the vacuum infinity...
Unimaginable. Infinity.

Marie's in-laws start bashing the bell,
a Quasimodo supper for the reckless, the insane.
It's two hits of Lily's blue, four pocket shots of ***,
it's the backdoor, it's the snowstorm, it's the 100th of December, it's the cell phone;
it's nostalgic.

I call Katherine, my sweet Indian princess. She talks in Mexican smoke rings,
and laughs only in a bed of Peruvian blues.

Marie describes her as, "Uh-huh, her", and Katherine's James describes me as, "******".
So, when Katherine picked me up behind States Street,
I licked her espresso skin, I kissed secondhand, and benediction, benediction.

Choirs of angels moved me, while we ****** under moonlight in her drug supplier's driveway.
I pulled her hair, beads of sweat danced and gleamed around me,
I got a call, I got a call,
I finished and took the call,
"Hello. Yeah, I'm sorry. Just stepped out for a second I'll be right back. Love you too."
Back to the mundane with a enough fix of fantasy to get me through the month.