you
tried on my suit that night to
“see
how much space you took up” in it
your yellow dress looked like a hazard in the
moonlight.
turn head once, twice
your slight hands, like china,
foreign now.
In January, you tasted like cinnamon.
Now, in
August you taste like wheat.
You fold my sweaters like packages
and always offer to peel my oranges.
To you, attacks and bombs have rendered me incapable.
My mind is your Brillo pad,
and like my suit -
overwhelmed and ill-fitting -
I don’t see you in it.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:10 AM UTC
you
tried on my suit that night to
“see
how much space you took up” in it
your yellow dress looked like a hazard in the
moonlight.
turn head once, twice
your slight hands, like china,
foreign now.
In January, you tasted like cinnamon.
Now, in
August you taste like wheat.
You fold my sweaters like packages
and always offer to peel my oranges.
To you, attacks and bombs have rendered me incapable.
My mind is your Brillo pad,
and like my suit -
overwhelmed and ill-fitting -
I don’t see you in it.
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