I think there has to be a return
to basics.
And I want to love you in some
untold part.
Where will you be when the
table turns?

You ripped the pages of a book
I misunderstood.
You proved my case wrong.
I licked your boots.

I have to wash my face three
times a day.
And my muscles
won’t get me out of my bed.

I’m always rocking on
these pre-Raphaelite women
who live upstairs from me.

You go from trousers to trousers
like a carrot.
And I watch you dry up like a well.

The light outside is like Matisse.
The light inside is off.
Are you really structured by
your biology?
Or are you something
more remarkable?

There’s too much noise here.
Loud neighbors are louder
when you know them.
She left her fingernails
on the floor.