April and Summer-like,
trying to remember how loneliness feels like
This is my current LIPS submission although I hate the Our Bodies metaphor. Tell me what you think!!!
was salted caramel.
Reigned of American Spirit.
Your finest bottle of six-dollar wine
I could have drank for hours.
I lost myself there.
was ripened fruit-
juicy peaches with the bruises hidden
underneath the pink, plump skin,
enjoying every last bite,nibbling me down to my core.
were your favorite song.
You know, the one that you grew sick of
it came up months after.
On the day Sylvia died I wanted
to know if I was pretty and he
Cheap bottle of wine from a
Iron & Wine spinning
from the record player, clockwise;
music that would put us
to bed. We pushed down doors, and
kicked the laptop off the mattress.
Lost in the discarded
items illuminated by
the lights in the parking lot,
we couldn’t get much sleep.
On the day Sylvia died
the clock struck midnight
and the pretty died. It sank
onto my under eye
bags puffy in the morning. I spilled
coffee on his duvet & burnt my lips.
Bundled in last night’s late winter
coat we walked against the
wind, tears poured down my
cheeks. Wiped away
the day after Sylvia died.
How to play Girlfriend to Someone Else’s Boyfriend
Text him at work
tell him there’s more to life than just his dead end job
pretend you don’t know about his finances.
Don’t ask him.
Text him after class,
make promises of tea and coffee
dates that will never happen;
you’ll never see him in public.
Don’t ask him.
Text him to watch a movie
tell him how much you like his company,
his witty commentary,
how much you’ve missed his weight on top of you,
tell him how much you’ve wanted him. Like his girlfriend
never will. Call him Sir,
because his girlfriend calls him babe.
Kiss the taste of patchouli out of his beard,
remind him not to forget his phone.
Don’t ask him who is waiting at home.
On Friday nights when he is going out,
imagine he is with his friends,
pretend you’re there with them
and he’s happy.
Don’t ask the mutual friends.
Text him while he’s drunk
and honest and truthful
at everything he says but smile
when he tells you he loves you.
When he tells you he loves you.
Don’t get angry
When he tells you he loves you,
Don’t ask him about his girlfriend.
Wake up passive aggressive.
I watched you drink up sadness
and smoke a bowl of manic-depressive for breakfast.
We drowned our lungs,
they filled, we held on;
our faces turned blue.
Our ears rang with the cacophony of settling
pressing our palms to our ears,
the sound echoed into our heads
threatening and violent or
full of beauty, it clouded our judgment so
we couldn’t decide.
You were a compliment and it became you.
you were just the hyphen in last names,
the periods between your abbreviation.
I was just the reflection of inside,
the comma between ideas,
the space between sentences.
Go to bed sadistic.
I watched you cuddle emptiness
and wake up masochistic.
You told me
nothing else made you quite feel
, , and
like I did.
And asked me to touch you in the way she never had
to wake up,
again, and again.
Our ears rang with silence
left by the gaps in the sentences
and the ends of the paragraphs that we couldn’t punctuate,
determined to know if you were a question mark…
or an ellipsis? Clouds came over our eyes so
we couldn’t decide.
I was your reflection and it became me.
We were those lost years
of lives that mothers refuse to talk about,
the breath that lingers in the cold air.
I woke up passive,
I spit up the sadness but,
I’ve never been a fan of breakfast anyway.