men like ***** and so
do infants. then again, I
think everyone does.

I cannot stand my
mind, but I sure love playing
with my ***** sometimes.

keeper of my heart,
burglar of every man’s, *****
can fall in love too.

I cannot sleep – too
busy thinking about these
pillows on my chest.

round as the top of
tea cups, white as creamer in
coffee – ***** are sweet.

When I am sad,
the only thing I can think is that
I never gave you permission
to pulse inside her and
you clock 90 beats per minute anyway.

He fills my mouth with bumblebees, they fill my
heart with honey:

part of the criteria that I have met includes desperate attempts
not to be alone, to lose abandonment
before I lose someone to it.
Antennae are between my molars – I have found
he will kiss me more when my breath
tastes the worst. He fell in love with me because
I love so hard that he will become a poem and live forever.

I may not be the saddest girl in the world,
but I sure have come close, thinking about how easy it would
be for him to leave me
if I simply kept a smile on my face for too long.

He may not be the most fearful man, but I heard him
cry about dying and now I know about
the two types of leaving
and
that there is one he would never do on purpose.