Another Love Poem I Hated Writing

 

I refrain your name in the rain

Reframe the pain as the same

You are in my veins

 

The left arm of an amputee, in its newly discovered dexterity

Often forgets about its paralyzed partner pickling in a walk in freezer

All I wanted was for you to warm me up

But you don’t even remember kissing my hurt

When I drove you to that amusement park I hated

You don’t remember how many tides of tears I dried

You don’t remember that I was the one who tried

 

How do you bring roses back to life?

With a fan brush of sloppy scarlet

From whores to gentrified escorts

Hide them behind geisha fans

I watered my flowers

But their petals fell anyways

Into a bath far from romantic

Where I read the Bell Jar

Think about my own blood disposing of itself

Think about you, my Sylvia

I bet my thoughts smelled like propane

Like nothing at all until you were nothing at all

 

And you are an emerald cut with finer tools

That deep sea divers will find and say,

‘I could’ve completely missed it!’

Not like me and not me

I saw the stars fall from the sky

I watched the sun burn out

While I watched the light bulbs burn out

While I watched our fire burn out

I saw a spider, genius at luring, look in a mirror

And find itself eaten by its own prey

Defeated by its disposition for prayers and prairies

Consumed by fatally fated foes

Golden yarn braided itself out of the scalp

Doomed by offering itself as sacrifice to the loom

 

 

Published at Soft Cartel