We're Asian in the morning,
My Mexican and I.
We spoon each other oatmeal goo,
He stains my lips with berry dye.
Tousled hair and bedroom eyes,
Messy, black and brown.
I tell him pretty, silly lies.
He taps and names my every bone.
"Your carpals shift when I do this."
I watch my fingers wave hello.
"I gave your dad a wet French kiss,"
He laughs because it isn't so.
"Your femur is the longest bone."
He grabs a handful of my thigh.
I say I smoked wasabi once,
It made me sneeze and got me high.
A pinch of white patella
And I'm begging him to stop.
I share with him the growing list
Of stores I plan to rob.
My sternum is the padlock on
The ribs that cage my peckish heart.
"I ate my best friend's afterbirth
Placenta, peppered, a la carte."
"Your coccyx is a knobby thing,"
He marveled at its beak.
"I amputated my old tail,"
I was a teenage circus freak".
"I think I like you anyway,"
He says and strokes my mandible,
My zygomatic arches wink,
I say that's understandable.
Class dismissed, now let's review.
Next week's lesson: muscle tissue.
"I'm not going anywhere," I lie.
The truth: I know I'll miss you.
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