starving again,
just to see how long i can take it.

wrapping myself several times in blankets
and vaccuuming up old crumbs as though their
wholer parts were never consumed.

remembering your fingertips grazing
the middle of my stomach and waking
to your breath in my neck.

shaking my head, over over.
it's over.

too bored, stagnant
to be depressed.

the room is thick with smoke
and pungent, i have a headache even
before i'm done inhaling
and your eyes are crooked-glazed,
sad and i'm telling you to stoppit.

he stands naked outside of the bathroom
with a towel partially covering his dick
and i can see the downward slope
of his pubic bone and his pointy hips
remembering my tongue along them.

he seems completely different now.
i cover myself in front of him.
he is in love with someone else
from somewhere else
who's not as smart as he is,
not as smart as i am.
talks too much and wears too many colors all at once.
i answered the phone when she called
and i could hear her vague apprehension when confronted with my voice.

i wish it were appropriate to tell her,
though we've never really met,
that she has nothing to worry about.

he's like,
so into her.

waiting for her call he was
pacing the kitchen and looks at me
dancing in place,
"i feel like i'm waiting for my kids to call or something,
but i don't want to sleep with my kids."

him talking about sex outloud
made my cringe.
something that he's done, i've done
we've done,
but

somehow thinking that him sticking his dick into me
was more meaningful or beautiful than plugging it up somewhere else.

but it isn't.

i'm starving again and shaking
under the covers and reading the dictionary
and sneaking into your notebooks when you're gone for the day.

and still i feel as though i'll never truly reach you,
still i feel like your mother.

06/02/2007

Posted on 06/02/2007
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer