Ciao baby, preggo
that means let's smooch under romantic balconies
and make lovely thick-haired multi-cultural children
I want a big ole belly of wine drinking zygotes
feta crumble eye *****
real live sculptures in my palace
jaggedy rocks with blood streams
trickling into the ocean
salty and brine like sewer sludge
let's go for a swim
could be amazing, or beautiful
most likely exciting at least
light bulb moment: I want to hear yours first
you're so dang brilliant like cerulean skies
fake but still pretty
tell me your story
teach me your lingo language
sil-vous plait?
Non?
Well fine, you're verbally redundant anyway
thoughts made of unsettling murky waters
no light can penetrate
and sweetie neither can you
not now
I'm 20,000 leagues too deep for your puddle of a conscience.

Your hand swipes furiously as you sketch the last remains of a sweater.
Lines.
Marks.
Messy, jaggedy, harsh lines.
Toppled over each other like pick-up sticks.

That girl has been on your mind.
The feel of the pen hard against soft fingertips.
Moving back and forth.
Lines.
Messy lines.

That girl.
The reason for this drawing.
You add her name to the cloak.
It is subtle but there.

The girl doesn’t seem to notice it.
You ask her to look a bit closer.
And.
There.
It.
Is.

Her name.
A hymn.
A prayer.
An answer.
To what?

I watch the fire
Performing
A jaggedy dance
In the black night
The wildness of its transformation
Commands my attention
As dry wood rapidly degrades
Into ashes and embers