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.”