there’s her handwriting
hidden faintly in the mirror.
i’m fat with second hand smiles
the sun gliding across your pepperbright skin
here on this coffeeshop couch
convincing elbow high across the overfull beast
it’s simply floating here, i can’t blame anyone but myself
or maybe my mother, who first floated the thing,
saying, “i can’t blame anyone but myself.” but
i’m convinced: this is a good idea, sold to a lioness
before waking beside her
her new sweat massaged into the mattress
in the aura of whatever, is sold without much sell
then buyer’s remorse: this sweet thing cannot smile back.
“what do you mean he kissed a leper?
“what’s the point in that? you kiss them
“and they fall apart.”