Two young men
chat the domestic. They can’t
be older than me, by much.
Maybe they’re younger.
A dishwasher installed in a home
kitchen is the savior of one’s relationship. They both chuckle.
Gently talking shop (which is life, obviously) they seem so content.
One is doing yoga with his girlfriend, who is very serious; they talk
finances now, savings, insurance, rent — something I can’t make out.
I wish the world would swallow us all.
happy easter, honey.
I hope your sister doesn’t get abused
by her husband, your brother-in-law.
hopefully you find some eggs today with
candy, and I hope your new boyfriend
likes going down on you, and you figure
out how to cum. later, I hope that when you get
pregnant it’s because you wanted to,
and not that your husband just really needed
a boy, (“and anyway, he travels so much!”)
and I hope labor is easy and there are
no complications. I hope your kids are great
and I hope that I never meet them.
ugh, girl of some dreams
mirita. dressed up,
what a still night, what a weird still night
lightening right above you, that doesn’t happen
why can’t I see you more?
the storm was all around us, but there was not wind.
the trees did not move. the light up above moved
that was all.
I think a tornado is coming.
writing stuff on a post-it
waiting for the bathroom
a line of one:
you’re probably wondering
how I got here…
haha, that was a good joke
–hope I don’t piss my pants–
sometimes things go in reverse.
sometimes the end was the beginning.
this is one of those times.
would I wake up at 430 am to go meet you
at the gym at 530 am, in the rain, only to work
out for two hours and then part ways, just
a glance, and a wave, and a ‘bye’ (no hugs;
we’re both so sweaty) and then separate breakfasts
and then I’m thinking of you all day, and you
forget we had even worked out in the morning,
(even though you were the one who suggested it)
you’re just too busy with the plans for the ski
trip, which is understandable because it will be
very fun but needs a lot of pre-thought, and Chris
wants you to know he can’t make lunch but he’ll
see you tonight, and it’s almost 4 pm and I’m still
wondering when you got those new neon green and pink
sneakers and thinking about when I made that joke
about that sports anchor, and you laughed while on
the treadmill, and oh, god I need a shot of something?
yes, of course, I’m trying to keep up healthy habits these days.
“You’re kidding me” and “no, thanks,” are
her most favorite words, easily. Tom had
informed me prior to the get-together that she
was a killer at yoga; an absolute beast, he phrased
it, about. So she wore jeans and vest
that had to be nineties made, and it was hard to
avoid a glance at those toned, tan arms crossed,
attached to a hand attached to a drink. Her smile
is like a spring sky, with impossible blue clouds and
a variety of song birds about the trees. It makes me spit
my drink nearly, just conversing with her, and
and again my eye line hits some angelic
angle: like on a titled-head laugh, or a superior wink,
or brief grin and brush of my arm with her hand.
shivers and slightly slitted lips, this meet up
has got me all mixed. mega waves hit me when she
grabbed my wrist, twisted my eyes into hers and said
“I have a storage unit I need to unpack; will you help me?”
my mouth is a stamp,
you are an envelope.
I know which corner to kiss.