and bette davis would roll her eyes at me
by Lauren Singer
first of all baby, i just want you to know that most of the time that you're not here i'm shaking my head about something you did to me, something you said to me that pissed me off, and i'm dissecting little idioms of your weak verbal-pronunciation and i'm wondering why i still fall on my back for you, leg up beetle-spread. i remember thinking that i'd be one of those spoiled types with scented letters, whimsy dinners, holding hands and twilight walking sort of love, you know? i wake up, you hovering over my body, laughing in my ear, criticizing the shape of my mouth when i sleep, pulling me up and tossing my face between your hands, calling me 'girl' with your hands on my ass when you're tired of talking. you have all these plans for me. "you wanna go camping in the adirondacks? you wanna drive to montreal and get tattoos? should we go fishing at the cabin and make pancakes. bring the dogs and mason jars full of home brew?" in the end we're always staying where we started and i'm thinking that the only time i want you is when you're with me, when you're gone i'm wondering where you are and who you're getting it from. and you say, "baby we've got an understanding. you know how i feel about you." you dig your fingers into my kneecaps and spread my legs enough to bring your face into mine, pulling me up under my armpits to dance in the kitchen. and as we twirl and dip in front of the window, the cars speeding by in the rain, motown blaring from the record player, i think that if you never spoke we'd really have something. that if all you were was your affections i'd be making the right choice. but i can't tell you not to do the things i hate about you. i make it a point not to respond to things you say before you leave. "maybe i'll come back to get you later. maybe we can take a drive." our big friday night is running through the car-wash, you threatening to open the windows if i misbehave. and suddenly i am my mother, laughing hard with a man who thinks the world of her in company and finds his satiated need quenched from a world of women without faces. it doesn't count if it's dark, baby, right? but we keep the lights on and that's what counts. you wanna see me when you touch me and you know everything about my skin. oh what a luscious lie to fall into. greta garbo never would have made the same mistake.
Posted on 04/11/2008
Copyright © 2020 Lauren Singer
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Julie Adams on 04/12/08 at 03:04 PM|
girl, I love every inch of this piece, and am excited to say so...this piece is magnetic, in that it pulls poems from me as I read on, and I confess there was not a line I didn't eat up...I can't say this happens often that such a response is warranted...I can so relate to the poems' stream of consciousness quality of expression, the frankness I adore and attempt at myself, and I am a classic pinup fan to boot...this piece is my first read of the morning and has set a poetic bar for the day...thanks, peace, and happy writing, jewels xxx
|Posted by Mo Couts on 07/22/11 at 01:28 AM|
I TOTALLY second everything Julie said. Everything you write draws me in and holds my attention like few other things in this world can do and that factoid alone awes me. I'm so honored to read your work, Miss Lauren!