Sinkholes
I cut hearts into her carrots and wait for her to wake up. I lie arugula on a small plate and excite some lentils. Her ugly feet snore on the bare mattress visible from the kitchen island. Sheetless, it is stained with my blood and blood maybe not mine. The dry cracked heels hurt all the time like wisdom teeth coming in, or maybe a canker sore or a paper cut with lemon or a hangover. I don't know, really. It's her body. The armpits nest black stubble like Long Island. I could die in her. I could cry in her stomach and fill her up with an ocean. I could disintegrate her skull with shooting galaxies & phosphorescents. I could loose game after game of air hockey and still go home with all the prizes. My mouth could plant a garden of moonshells and kale in her asshole where the planets and the snails could hide. Soft and running and standing firm. I could tramp her leen. I could steal her cake. I could turn her ferrets into wheels, but instead I find faults to lie like boughs over the sink hole of love and cut hearts to remind her how cute I am. Your notes, your steel sliding fingers your goofy ass patentable grin tickle that fine line felt / heard Music is dangerous. sound waves don't see skin as solid, they reach through and shake each little atom, one by one, & whether or not you like that trembling you have been changed. And I just want to hear you, I just want my fingers on you my mouth, here and now Fuck this dream state bullshit. But what can I do? we are cast off different homes, you are wrapped in older skin, still, I can't stop feeling you.
Copyright © Samantha Barrow
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