dear God,
thank you for the flower you left me under the bus station seat tonight.
it’s beautiful.
no one has ever given me flowers before except on dance recital nights.
i’m glad that i danced beautifully for you tonight.
kerri, this post gave me chills. it is beautiful. you are beautiful.
i have that quote tattooed on my back. a poetic tramp stamp, if you will.
you need to buy why things burn daphne gottlieb.
sooooo I need some quotes for a press kit. anyone have anything nice to say about me?
when i took your virginity,
i did it carelessly, like a dog
left alone in a butcher shop.
i taught you the way adults love
(quick, dry, no eye contact.)
a year later, in the back of your car,
you showed me what you had learned,
what kind of man i had coached you to be.
there was nothing playful
in the way you hit; pounded, tenderizing meat.
scraping at skin as if you were trying to take back
what you lost inside of me
by the time you came on my back,
my nipples were as chapped
and gnawed as bones, my legs raw
like a newly butchered lamb, bloody.
you taste like what i imagine
swallowing radio wires
feels like: all sparks and pop
music in my throat.
when she stops kissing you
with her mouth open,
find the screw driver.
buy a newly cut shank of beef.
leave so much blood in the kitchen
she has to ask what happened.
when she stops calling you baby,
hide the silverware
between the couch cushions.
when she starts leaving
your mail on the table,
let the sinks overflow.
when she stops
making eye contact,
set fire to your bedsheets.
when she does not reach
for your hand on the street,
pretend it is the first time
you’ve met.
