#1: MANY SWINGING AMERICANS ENJOYING EACH OTHER A GREAT DEAL
you lay patiently on the forest floor
mushrooms + spores growing from
your weak back
you think you're charles atlas
you think you're kute
I will crack open your body and reveal
the silt and mineral content under
your delicate ribs
I will throw you into the mist of the mountains
you are among the indigenous species.
eventually you will discover beetles
in your lungs
and you will cough them up like Ill-advised paragraphs
we make out in graveyards
you stretch your bony wings
begging to be crucified
and I will bend them back against the splintered wood until
I hear your shoulders clasp around those posts.
#2: CLAUDE MONET
you say nothing about how I love pink,
a surprising fact when most enter my room.
I'm not the badass I think I am when I'm with you.
my room is flooded with orange
and I have a candle called Luck burning
I tell myself it's because it smells good.
I turn on horror movies for the background noise
and by the time the opening scene takes place
I know you aren't looking at the T.V. anymore.
when you take your glasses off to get closer to me
I become a painting by Claude Monet.
I become the weeping willow,
I become the water lillies,
I become the poppies-
embossed brushstrokes at the hand of a man.
#3: IN FALL
your arms are the branches of an apple tree
and apples fall from your dry palms
and you are beautiful.
I lap cider up like a child
with my smooth cheeks burned by the wind.
fall has days on which I want to be buried
and I'll put my big bones on top of yours
in a position that makes old women blush
And pumpkins open their bodies to us in very revealing ways that I may or may not be comfortable with.
you told your friend that that I've got pretty eyes
and you smooth my baby hairs back with short-nailed fingers.
everything about this fall has made me want me want to die, decay and be reborn into your arms.