Anna said you probably don’t notice awkward

like I do

And I’m drunk so my edges are abrupt

My turns and hurdles are fuzzy

So

Hope swift snapshots, clips and kisses

weren’t flashbulbed like they are in my mind cuz

I Really Like You

(I’m lying, messily fucking around, destroying lives, but)

I Like You.

Anna said -watch, you’ll fuck this up!-

I know

I know

but you smell nicer than candles,

your awkward tilts on mine,

you brought out something older and

mostly romantic in me that has me

judging kisses and not knowing

how to touch your arm.

-Wait put your arm back on my knee!-

Oddly

I’d like to fuck you sober

I’d like to hold your hand in the rain

and people watch on a picnic bench for hours.

I’d like to go ice skating and be tickled pink

by you.

He parallels the warm carpet. I said –no getting up!- and he

toppled us to the floor.

You’re pretty and I

like the way you talk.

I believe all your words –unusually-

Tracing your t-shirt

I’m perfectly comfortable, nestled in your arm pit

Snuggle me closer, I insist you won’t make me run.

I’m all fluffy.

Part of the mural on the walls of my apartment.

I’m flying a little, leaping up wildly inside my skin

My head loses structure, I’m tripping over myself-

the very short hems of my minidress

My blond hair is whirling all around me

My sides are squeezed just over my hip bones

I’m sure my toes could lift me into the air

Crisscrossing twists, my feet are hopping without my permission

I’m whirling.

Maybe you’re lonely and I’m lonely too

who knows

Maybe I’m real and I make open

(laughable) mistakes

And also maybe you like badass blondes

who drink beer  and wear leather jackets

but also write poetry

take bubble baths

and wear pink dresses

I don’t know

Probably though, you like round

asses and tight miniskirts, so.

Danced in, beer and bourbon

on my breath.

Birthday blowjob in exchange for

an almost sober ride home.

Drop my leather jacket on

a small soft creature

tummy up to greet me.

Won’t be lonely tonight, at least.

Deep eyes over a shoulder bone draped in lace

She looks away and disappears in sunshine

Simple fingers –working hands- clutching leather strands

and of pearls outlining a too careful shadow

Who are you, looking girl?

Overcast eyes, netted and foggy

knowing gently the future will happen, but waiting you can’t lift

a velvet curtain- the fly system takes callused hands.

You’re capable. Rip netted silk from bones and look with open eyes.