the
      smoke
         fills his lungs
           like a smokestack.
                   the butts litter
                             ashtrays like
                    little potholes of ash
           throughout
                        his room.
              stacks upon stacks
          of the disgusting things,
brownish yellow- just like
           the **** on his
                            teeth.
                              
                                 his
                            breath
                                smells
                               and tastes
                                      as if you were
                                 lying facedown
                            on the hot
                              pavement, tongue
                            to the ground
                      gravel, dirt and gasoline
         on your tastebuds.
                  he burns
                             he yearns
                          for the fix.
                   when he works on his car
                       in the hot sun,
                             his fingers shake
                   unless he's
        holding a smoke.


                                           And every day when she comes home
                                            she kisses him full on the mouth and
                     breathes
                            
                          it
                              
                           in.

I might not always be ready
for something so new
and different from
what I was used to

but I like laying in your
warm nest of blankets
and lingering scents
of cigarettes

and smooth skin brushing for hours
because we can’t think of anything else to do

and I could spend the rest of my time asleep
with you

when your hip bones part my thighs
and we don’t know whose hair is whose

I want to cling to you

and listen to your heart
cry for something you’ve never felt

cleaning out the refrigerator

the hot kitchen
             the underside of my *******
               collect moisture

and everything smells like salsa.
                                  and pickles.
and raspberry scented dishsoap.

crusty yellow nasty **** caked on

                         the glass shelves

it won't come off,
                                even after a long soak

     I scrape it off with a razor blade

I took out all the eggs, the garlic,
containers of cooked wild rice,
store bought broccoli cheese soup

the butter or margarine or rat poison
or whatever it is
I'd never touch it.

The jar of homemade canned sweet pears
                    from when my mom's brother
                    had an excellent harvest
                                                        two years ago.

there's a small circle of browning black mold floating on top.

four cans of Thirster brand orange
juice, only 80 calories
per serving!





puddles of nasty gray hardened sticky gunk
i don't know what it is.
or what it used to be.

Then the drawers of vegetables

the browning lettuce
the dirt covered mold covered unopened
bag of broccoli and cauliflower

5 red peppers
                        squishy in some places

The             shelves                         all    come   out.

wash with warm soapy water
                                             i wipe the sweat off
                                          my face with the dry
                                       part of my arm


                  I put everything back in its place.    

                    All clean.

                                               Now my refrigerator

                                    has lost all its

                                                     character

When we were in fifth grade we used to pretend that you were the President.
We’d sit you up on your desk, located on the tallest slide and bow down to you,
And then you’d address the world.

And when I got bored, I’d go pinch the boy I liked
And when he ran away, I’d kick him

But I don’t think I ever kicked you

Because you never ran away


And when we were thirteen
You biked to my house in the rain

And I didn’t even offer you a towel

But you didn’t even kiss me.
So we both can have our regrets, I guess

But now
When we’re sitting in your car
With wind in our hair

We can feel our pasts
Meshing like
The way our lips do

When we sing together


You make my heart, skip

you smell the same way i always remembered you


like a sweet musk musty with sweat and heartache
every crinkle on your face
every single pore

was almost forgotten


but honey,
i will keep your lips from getting chapped ever again

just wait wait wait.
wait just a little longer

i know it's hard

but when we wrap ourselves in each other

and the skin of my hands
is your skin on your face
and the freckles on my knees
are your freckles on your shoulders

and the light that shines in my eyes is a greyblueblack

happiness
will evade us
we won't apologize to anyone

for the grains of sand under our fingernails

i will sigh every winter
deep, just like you

and we will breathe the same air

like we share the same lungs
same heart
same eyes
same face


same hands

our voices
blend like Robert's and Alison's
even when we're not singing
even when you are making
little grunts and i am
making breathy
             moan love
                        moans

and those sounds make me
want to cry just like
Robert and Alison
make me cry

     but they are always
                     happy tears

there was one night
i remember particularly


when the candles were lit

on the bedside table
and in my soul


i was on fire

for you


there were hours of
my lips against yours



hot warmth of your back
warming my palms

I couldn't believe that
your body
was inside
of my body.

we were one person.

the skin and the smell
of your sweat

a constant reminder of our nakedness
wow


breathtaking
wetness
of everything


peeking at
our *******
we both looked down
you pulled out
wet from me

wet like everything we knew

like the lake that we swam naked in
or the river
where i first thought

"love"

is what this is.


we looked down
and the hair
sticking to my legs
from the delicious sweet muskiness

shimmering

the sweat on my body was not yours
it was not mine

it was Ours

for hours

your voice was not shaking
i only heard understanding.

under the phone crackling
i heard a train going somewhere far away.

i want to turn myself inside out
so you can see how my heart is covered in blood

but i can trust you
not to try to fix it.
but just to understand.