WHIPPED OFF CENTER
Ooh. Auscultating the boiling sewage from the
earth's blackened crust.
Goddamnit.
I
said I love you.
And
all I get back is some metadata
Cockamamie
poem about how those certain crushing words
Stick
like fetid glue in your moist-full-of-promise throat.
What
about your tongue-torque tongue in my moist promising throat
Last
night when I said I loved your sorry ass?
Faking
feelings is way under rated
in
your lovely little-too-honest
poems.
So
full of antique gold gilded truth
they
don't have space for real kindness.
Dare
I say real emotion or affection?
I
repulse you,
you
said as you climbed out of bed
Purposely?
brushing your stiff stiffening digit
across
my face, catching the moonlight in heat.
The
love talk took away your freedom, your compulsion to be
Spontaneous
Like
warm water flowing over the edges of wooden bowls.
No
words, you said.
Well,
you only get to make half the rules.
My
bowels are fucking over flowing and it won't kill
You
to swallow hard
the
shallow demand
of
making the white-hot lie
sounds
of
"I love you too."
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