Listen, kiddo, you have a real fine tongue,
that’s all I’m trying to say.
None of this “love is a rusted violin!”
No, it is only the fuzz on your ear lobes.

--he expects me to be real eloquent,
every moment, when sometimes I
just want to fuck with the lights out.

Try the harsh glow of the kitchen lighting,
and all I can do is count how many forks
are in the drawer by this sink; the sink you
clogged that time you had me shave your head.
The sink I clogged after bar close.

I am always finding your hands everywhere,
even when I have left you, I am always leaving you,
and somehow, like turpentine, you linger unwanted.

I strip you down like a chair and still,
somehow, you have too many legs.

03/06/2008

Author's Note: I think this is what he wants to tell me. And, sometimes, I am just a college poet wanting to write college poet things.

Posted on 03/07/2008
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