Tuesday, September 27, 2016

i am always writing some version of a haunted house, 
creeping crawling phantoms, the things black puddles and dark closets 
are made from but
i am always writing a story with a better ending, 
one that does not taste bad, in which 
both characters do not have to die, in which 
one character does not have to die.
you have a freckle on your rib cage that looks like the moon but
a moon we have never seen before, like one
from another planet or something.
i keep finding teeth under my pillowcase
from the apology,
love is like an orgasm that doesn't stop
even after you start crying.
an apple too perfect
to eat 
or pick,
i went into a lake and came out covered in long brown algae fur
and felt like a wolf thing, baptized,
love is a jaw full of berries with the juice pressing past your teeth 
love is 6:59 AM when you are awake and waiting,
love is a bear's paw full of honey.
and hazardous to health if licked, 
love is the invasion of japanese honeysuckle to america, 
leading to massive ecological crisis in which 
everything turned pretty
love is like something growing 
in the basement
even after the house fire.

i have no teeth and i miss you more than japanese honeysuckle, 
your ghost looks like the moon but
a moon we have never seen before and 
i am turning into a moon you have never seen before 

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