#dweeb
i could have been a field medic,
you suggested, with my gentle touch
running down the thin skin
of your spinal notches. i bite my
nails but i still could pinch glass
out of your pores and press my hand
so red would fill my palm lines.
the version of i, completed with you,
is a war vet’s firework dream
of what grandeur really is.
you’d talk of lactating with
your closed wounds, we’d retire
to a wheat farm, and i’d plant your
stomach into the garden. maybe the
baby’s blood cells pump forsythia.
our favorite, but really, yours.
i could still be a field medic, you
suggest, but not the only one.
i’d stitch slits when, if ever,
rain comes down on bare you
planted & abandoned
in the flower bed. you’d
still lactate, just wouldn’t
bleed. and the planted baby
would know me as a father
or a gardener but i’ll only
ever be a medic. the
statue i once was,
imperfections cleared,
is crushed marble on
a mausoleum floor.
medic can’t recover with
no bones to heal.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC
Mr. Sensitive
I’m so sensitive to her needs.
I’m so sensitive, I can’t believe,
That she is really going out with me,
When I am such a dweeb.
She is so beautiful and sensitive.
She is so sensitive and sweet to me.
She is so wonderful, I can’t believe,
That she is such a dweeb.
She’s a dweeb, yeah, but she is all mine.
She’s a dweeb in need and you know she’s right.
She’s a complete dweeb and she’s out of her mind;
This lovely dweeb is this nerd’s sunshine.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC