leashes my thoughts
as desire drives my hands
into linen tunnels.
The forearm compulsively
uses her face
to spider
the headboard mirror.
Scenes melt
like lipstick left
in my car;
her purse seems to not close.
Nuances flicker against
remembrances.
Her lower lip
sags slightly East.
Her spine bends out
as if in limbo poses;
While flat feet grope
for air under poundage.
Six or so years to the day,
she fell from the 20th floor
onto my Fiat. Some say shoved;
I suspect jumped.
Five days with her family,
learning Spanish prayers.
While metronomed pulses
registered her heavings.
When woken by Angels,
she found me in habits
of changing sopped pillows,
and dressing her wounds.
My name evaporated
off of her accent
into my sad phobias
of being alone.
At first she was helpless
with inkblots and crutches.
Spending quarters in vending,
coffee kept me busy in vigils.
When striding unnassisted
came like a best friend's birthday,
she finally walked
away from hospital scents.
In the sunlight she was easy,
and a listener to Deftones.
Off of the common grounds
I built her a House of Dates.
She accepted with grand corners,
as her smile bench-pressed gloom.
To Tuscani Village we decided,
what with a boasting wine list and all.
She ascended upon her Greek olives
in the calmest of fashions.
With a wave of her wristwatch,
my needs became starved.
Asked her for a commitment
in a three o' clock moment.
Grasping onto my coarse offer,
she blurted out the summer month.
That June, in lawful hip-touches,
she shook me into evening.
Getting screamed at the next morning
though, was quite a setback.
So see, I've struggled in gradual tones,
a swallow for more weakness
doesn't soften the muscles
that carress her face.
So as I'm giving her children,
six or so years later,
the desires are quelled,
while the Disgust Club sends me coupons.
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