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david-badgerowPoems
lately i've been having these good days i don't have sad wet cigarette saxophone nights anymore i watched the sun wake up six times last week i found a blue bucket of tulips & gave them to a bald-headed krishna girl when she sang to me on the sidewalk i hired a boy to hide in the foyer & peel a fiddle if i rouse from sleep during the night or whistle through a harmonica if i'm wet-eyed during breakfast i finally got rid of all the pictures you stuck to your side of the dusty bathroom mirror except the blissed-out polaroid of us perched on an old oak tree limb like a couple of soft doves versus the turreted sunset i deleted your number because you don't call me back anyway i stopped mailing letters to your father's house i haven't listened to the Plantasia record you bought me since you left i never feel the gray heat from your staticky hand warming my shoulder i forgave you for the blood in my kidneys & old smog in my mildewed vinyl lungs i sleep under the running green vapor light of the moon & stars instead of the frothiest pillows rippling on an ocean of sheets & project quilts i finally scoured the lipstick stain from my collarbone after what seemed like two years i forgot how your armpits smelled i sewed all your sundresses into a shower curtain & i never see your delicate ribcage peaking through the streams of hot water i hardly ever notice the noose you left hanging in our apartment
0
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
been having these good days
lately i've been having these good days i don't have sad wet cigarette saxophone nights anymore i watched the sun wake up six times last week i found a blue bucket of tulips & gave them to a bald-headed krishna girl when she sang to me on the sidewalk i hired a boy to hide in the foyer & peel a fiddle if i rouse from sleep during the night or whistle through a harmonica if i'm wet-eyed during breakfast i finally got rid of all the pictures you stuck to your side of the dusty bathroom mirror except the blissed-out polaroid of us perched on an old oak tree limb like a couple of soft doves versus the turreted sunset i deleted your number because you don't call me back anyway i stopped mailing letters to your father's house i haven't listened to the Plantasia record you bought me since you left i never feel the gray heat from your staticky hand warming my shoulder i forgave you for the blood in my kidneys & old smog in my mildewed vinyl lungs i sleep under the running green vapor light of the moon & stars instead of the frothiest pillows rippling on an ocean of sheets & project quilts i finally scoured the lipstick stain from my collarbone after what seemed like two years i forgot how your armpits smelled i sewed all your sundresses into a shower curtain & i never see your delicate ribcage peaking through the streams of hot water i hardly ever notice the noose you left hanging in our apartment
david-badgerow
Written by
david-badgerow
34/M/American
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 4:20 PM UTC
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