I would like to consume without
feeling like I am bursting the seams
that my first crush stitched me up into;
a tight, designer dress he unveiled: "fat."

Each morning when I neglect to make my bed, I see your faded red towel folded on the corner of my nightstand.

This is a reminder that you will eventually spend the night again.
This is a reminder that you will eventually share wine with me  again.
A reminder that you will eventually hold me, eventually swing me     around in the kitchen, eventually kiss me first.

I don't know when, and the uncertainty wells up in my eyes. I guess this is what it feels like to miss someone who is right there.
We have not reached the point of routine, which is to say that we are not dull, though I cannot say this in confidence.

Each night when I climb back into my bed, I see your faded red towel, still folded, at the corner of my nightstand.

This is a reminder that he will eventually spend the night again, I tell myself.

One word answers. Red. A red towel reminder. Towel. When was it touched last? Tears. When was I touched last?

Like throwing in a white flag, I surrender to this sadness.

It's cold.
It's quiet.
I am cold
& I am quiet.
I feel cold.
To the touch,
in my organs,
& I hear quiet.
I hear everything
except for what I want to.
What I need to.

Quietly I sit, watching the cold waves of Lake Michigan
come crashing in, just like you & me.

Re-cap:

I cried because the only thing that made me want to find love again was a gun pointed at the back of my head.

I know why they do it.
I know why they do it.
  I wouldn't do it.
  But
I know why they do it.

After you made the comment that we spent the past 48 hours together,
         as if you had been counting down the second- ticks on your watch,
         I spent the next 48 hours in my car,
         crying.
It was innocent enough, your comment.
& sometimes it feels nice to cry.

Please do not ever say that again.

A Boy and a Girl

Stretched out on the grass,
a boy and a girl.
Savoring their oranges,
giving their kisses like waves exchanging foam.


Stretched out on the beach,
a boy and a girl.
Savoring their limes,
giving their kisses like clouds exchanging foam.


Stretched out underground,
a boy and a girl.
Saying nothing, never kissing,
giving silence for silence.
     Octavio Paz (1914-1998)