Mmmm

the ribbed fibers of the couch
rub against my skin
and are hot
i open my eyes and
close them
in syncopation with my breathing
a candle on the counter
is flickering yellow
and throwing shadows across the room
i open my eyes
his face is above me
strong and round
and hair particularly golden
blowing side to side with his movement
and breath
i inhale
while fingertips grip my wrists
and dig in
and I feel the tingle of a smile
start to spread across my face
i close my eyes and
he pushes me
my head runs into the side of the cabinet
he says, "Sorry," and looks genuinely worried
I start to laugh
and I think, this is it
this is it

Trouble

I'm holding his face
It's rough and it scratches my skin
While he's kissing me

He won't shave
When the shower's not draining

He wonders if six or seven months
Is worth changing his whole life
I'm wondering the same
For myself

He's not he first one to make
Promises while sleeping on the couch
But he is the first one who
Ever made me want to say no
To the others

My plans that were set in stone
Are slowing eroding
Shifting and shaping into something else
Possibilities
And I have a sneaking suspicion
That just like the times before
I'll be made a fool of in the end

Left only with the lesson
And a few love notes

Breakfast

Exhausted
I'm waiting for the red sheets
And his shirt
to come out of the dryer.
Most times I don't think about it
I just do.
But I cried when he left this morning.

Probably mostly because I know
he missed his family
and I was part of the reason.

And if I was from Texas
I'd sing him that Stevie Nicks song
like I did in my head last night
when I fell asleep on his shoulder
waiting for my two scrambled eggs
three sausage links
hash browns
and a biscuit with gravy.

It was two a.m. and a very
Diner, my shiney shiney love
moment.

So here I sit
reversing it in my head
Too close to Texas
Too far from home
and thinking how retarded I am
for getting myself into these things
constantly.

But he thinks my eyes are beautiful
And he can tell by the way I say hello
what kind of day it's been
He says what he means
And lives to hold me in the middle of the night.

It's temporary, I know.
But it'll leave a mark.
It already has.

Steel and Wood

The perfect pressure
contemplated and repeated
a stroke
... a stroke
vibration and shivers
down the neck
up my spine

and screaming
on stage and in
the night
steel and wood
cold and hard
and hot
harder still

the sweat the screams
he pushes more
I watch him and
he sees me
I beg him
and he plays

Too slutty, too fat.

He is insane
the voice on the the other end
says
What reason could he
possibly have
for not falling in love with you

Your guess is as good as mine

and I've got a thousand

Around him I am

harsh
obtrusive
loud and
stubborn
desperate
needy
and drunk

what's not to love

when I'm by myself
and I bring myself to the point of
implosion
through battery operated means
there are days when
the tears come

because I'm half imagining
him holding me
and half feeling the shame

of not being

virginal
quiet
demure
and rejecting
enough for him

and after these years
I still haven't found my way
out

Acid Free Paper

It happened again
The day after Thanksgiving
On Kevin McKiddy's bedroom floor
Matted brown shag and cigarette burns
Gave way to
Carpet burns and cheap lingerie
Too long unused
And wrinkled by hours of separation

Headed west twelve hours
In the middle of the night
Sparkling moonlight tears
Of hope and desperation
Landed on a mattress on the floor
In a borrowed room
Feet aching, exhausted
Twenty in my pocket
A picture in my head
And seventeen nauseating weeks
That passed too quickly

And February was upon us
I traded that mattress in for another
On the south side of town
Six hundred square feet
Of fire and brimstone
And an exam table
We spent the rest of our days
Pacing like prisoners
Enclosed and alone
Angry for what we had lost
And fighting springtime

Napkin Poem #2

He did it to me fifteen ways
from Sunday
Like he always does.
We have
neutrons and protons that
get together
and scream
"Let's get this shit
done!"
It took me one minute
fifty-six seconds to come.
I counted.
He's about three shades darker
than you
and two shades less
eager.
He drew a picture of
my thighs
and I saw it on a freezer door
in a bar tonight
and felt like you had
forgotten
that he had RAPED
me.
In love. And I wanted him to.
Goodbye Norma Jean,
and I didn't mean a thing.
Your legend was a long
dark highway
And two baby boys
and one more for the road.
He's got those Indian fingers,
what am I supposed to do?
Of course I pretend
they're yours.
But this beer and this cold
hard bottle
is going to have to do
for now.

for now.