you read those books where they build girl angels in laboratories who fall in love with lonely boys.
you like hearing your poems read back to you in english accents and you like your accents licking on your poems because, if I recall, you’re heart-broken --no I haven’t forgotten, yes I remember, you were the curvaceous queen of unskinned knees; I was ****** in jeans. you got partway through Swann’s Way, but gave up last November, when I was hitting walls hard. the last words you read were the last on your mind, “Happiness is beneficial for the body--” and you stopped, that was fine enough for a tattoo. (happy needle, breast imbrue) Well grief taught me, grief bought me, and I was hitting walls hard. But straight back for you, to boys kissing boys and you’re too old for toys and you think it’s pathetic how girls go to get it with silicon and plastic oh go on, tell me how you’re a heart-breaker, ha, because you showed them your *******, like an angel.
you like to remind me how skinny you are now, and you still love to dance.