i followed you out the door
on a tuesday
by wednesday, you’d swallowed
the bear whole
and were speaking fluently
wednesday evening you bit me
on my thigh
and left black and blue
teeth marks in my flesh.
and before that, there were blue eyes
and corduroy pants.
you kept boyhood in your closet
and cooked me spanish rice
in your studio apartment.
on thursday afternoon you flirted
with the girl with super long blonde hair.
you filled your canvasses with the way
you wanted people to see you –
all genius scribblings on bar napkins.
by evening, i grew tired of listening
to you talk about the ex-girlfriend
who’d demand you keep your mouth open
while she kissed you so she could fantasize
about kissing a beautiful woman’s
friday at midnight, you bought me
a tiny water frog and we gazed
at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.
when you kissed me, your mouth
tasted like parliaments and ramen noodles.
i didn’t mind.
but when we walked around the block
and came home to find the little frog,
young and sweet as it was,
belly up in its tank, i knew morning
would arrive sooner than you expected.
so it arrived – i had to drive to michigan
and then fly to florida to catch it, though.
you drank wine and i sipped water.
when i was on top, you were venus beneath
me. and i left you like that.
saturday was horrible. i spent the day
cleaning fake blood off your razor blades,
and listening to your mom shout racial slurs
at me. she pulled my hair so hard
it ended up in your mouth and everything
you said was tangled. you chopped down my tree
like washington and carved your name with
a heart around it in the trunk. i cut my teeth
on the roots til dawn on sunday, when they petrified.
i walked 29 lengths of your wingspan
to get to you. when you gently touched
my back and said my name with certainty,
i recognized your voice.
when i closed my eyes, my head next to yours,
i dreamt of monday – when the week was young,
when i was young, when you were young, and
i would wake up, cheeks full of sugar and lemons,
and tears rolling down my face, crying,
“is this what love feels like?”
but you were still holding me after i woke up,
despite my worst days. and though bittersweet
monday still stung, you made it sting less.
and when i asked you if you still wanted me,
you said yes and yes and yes again.
(and then, just like that, you bought me a new book of days.)
i fit into a pocket of you
you slip into a thought of mine
we exchange spoons at the foot of the bed
i fall into a belly of a whale while we sleep
stretched across it, hands and feet against flesh
you are there when i tumble out
morning window bathing your ear
spoon to spoon, soft against your back
arm around your waist, hand on your belly
i can hear the song of a whale singing there
and the voyager holds our electrical impulses too:
whales and spoons and me and you.
sometimes i wanna
brush the tiny blonde
hairs in your ears.
they are so cute and
i think they would
like to be brushed
by a little brush
just their size.
then i would kiss them
one by one and
your ear would blush
and i would smile.
here you are guinness,
dark and tasty on my tongue
there you are soft foam on top,
sitting there all chill
like the hipster that just
walked by with a silly fro
and thick-rimmed glasses
trying to rock a wool sweater
and cords at the end of may.
glide, glide, little hipster.
your black reebox are so ironic.
we were at a kitchen table
in a public place.
you were smiling next
to your new full asian girlfriend.
you were holding a baby. you and i
laughed together. it had been awhile.
i took the baby out of your arms
and gave you a loaf of french bread
instead. you cradled it and laughed.
this is funny but it’s really,
really sad too.
probably more sad than funny.
but it was good to see you.