I loved you.

"All those cigarettes and cocktails."

I love you
when you count the toes within my stockings
tell me each one's fables,
spinning yarns into cable-knit conundrums and,
fancied, I spin along.

"From darling, with animosity."

I love you
when all these things you notice about my hair:
There is this coincidental part tossing it
this way or there. There is no wind to compensate.

I love you
when a violent stare across a bounty of entertainment
draws us to a close and you couldn't give a shit for it
or against the other times when everyone is silent.

"You are the girl with twice the anger."

I love you
when exploring islands of my knees and
it is all I can do to keep you from raising a flag.

"You don't have to guess, it's just a figure of speech."

I love you
between the humors of ill and nonsense
laughter ceasing and returning with a thrown-back head
and noses bent into bare chests and the bones
sticking from with out it.

"I am far too busy to give you my attention."

My stocking catching on the airs you left behind,
tearing at the knee in rebellion to me.

12/05/2007