I. Midas

i like to look at your picture because it reminds me that you are just a man

your hands have handed me horseradish and hard liquor and you’re about as chatty as the women on the view but it's great because i'm totally into this view

and ohio was gray until out of the blue, you touched me and i turned to gold

---

II. Indianapolis

i want to rage so hard in this life

i want to be so exhausted from living that i don’t even have the urge to fight back on my death bed

and i’ll be too worn out to walk into heaven that the angels will have to carry me in

only to have peter push me through the drop door and i’ll plummet straight into purgatory

which i’m convinced is the state of indiana

where there’s inexplicable construction funded by taxes from the four people who live there

inconveniencing all the rest of us who are just passing through

peeing in your roadside wallpapered bathrooms and marveling at your cows of many colors

the loudest noise in indiana is probably me screaming

it’s like each telephone pole took two days off my life

but i lived it.  if driving through indiana meant giving life a chance, fine.  i found a vegan restaurant in indianapolis and i got lost in indianapolis and i hated the fact that i got overwhelmed in indianapolis

but god put it there.  so while the angels escort me towards the drop door, my legs will be too sore from LIVING my LIFE and i can turn around and look at peter and say have fun standing in the same place on your stupid pink cloud and before i know it i’ll land with a thud in a truck stop on I-70W surrounded by billboards advertising breakfasts and best westerns

Do you know what time it is?

Is it springtime?  It tastes like springtime in every word I wish I could say to you, but I choke on petals and potting soil in the meantime.

Is it Sunday morning?  It tastes like Sunday morning every time I speak your ancient name that led me out of Egypt.

Is it naptime?  It feels like naptime in every toss and turn I take, even though when we lay down, we don’t usually rest.

Do you know what time it is?

You don’t wear a watch.  But if you did, it would probably be a Casio watch.  Because you’re subdued and kind of smokey and there’s nothing shiny about you

Until you laugh from the pit of your stomach and I feel like I’m home.

You don’t wear a watch.  And I’m glad because it shows off your arms more.  You don’t need to cover them up and you actually don’t need to cover anything up, ever.

Wait.  Is it naked time?  

Do you know what time it is?  

Is it dinner time?  Like the time when you smeared barbecue sauce on my face and got away with it?

Is it wintertime?  You make me feel kind of warm inside.

Is it bedtime?  Because even though your eyes are the color of ice and your spine is made of steel and your biceps feel like bricks, you are the softest and gentlest person there is.  

I’m afraid that the clock will strike twelve and you’ll see that I’m just a maid in rags who has mice for friends.  And that I am actually not a princess.  

I’m just a girl with a funny name who has completely lost track of the time.

He went from stone to telling me he loves me in his sleep
And I couldn't look into his eyes until recently because it meant that I had to accept my own mortality
Not because he's going to **** me
But because I'll never truly know what's on the other side
They're blue and that's all I know and it keeps me starving and satisfied and scared and safe
He's my safe space. The kind that ****** off our baby boomer parents
He'll call you by your preferred pronouns. He'll celebrate your womanhood. He is the painting session that's offered instead of the midterm exam
My only worry with him is that my hair is frizzy and my lipstick is faded
I don't even worry about his roommate hating me when I visit because of our sighing and the bed squeaking
I'm at a place in my life where I wonder how high I can go at this point but if he is my anchor, the view is just fine
If he is my anchor, I'm not drowning at all
If he is my anchor, he'll lift me higher because he likes that I'm tall

I remember as you stood bare feet
tiptoes on the red linoleum

reaching up to pull
the shade at dusk;

I left before the sun rose
you slept weeks

before realizing
there was no return.