THE NEXT TIME
I feel like I am running,
naked,
backwards through the corn field of your thoughts.
Each adjective has caught me
square in the asshole.
Every noun told
is just thrusting its way into my head.
Always the need for the sexual.
I strive for reverence.
For deference.
Just ask me my opinion.
Just ask me what I want!
I retrace my steps.
What kept drawing me in?
Was it the din of a woman
slowly saying my name?
A name that sounds childish
even in the best of intentions?
She is the snow.
Beyond being cold, the snow is water
but it’s not wet.
I need hydration.
My throat is dry and you’re making me talk.
Relationships are,
at their core,
impossible.
They are building an ark.
Hoping for a 2x2x2 scenario.
The water is supposed to win.
Your world could be destroyed
or it could simply change.
So I say bring on the destruction!
I always wanted to get you wet.
I love the thought of the debris
and your legs
and your hair
and your thoughts
getting tangled in some God’s decision.
I float above you
as you sink.
Concussed. Doomed.
This is too often my story.
I seek solace in the next time.
When the land is dry again.
When chaos is only a possibility.
When I am clothed,
and warm,
gliding softly through someone’s head.
The next time is,
unfortunately,
always going to be better.
naked,
backwards through the corn field of your thoughts.
Each adjective has caught me
square in the asshole.
Every noun told
is just thrusting its way into my head.
Always the need for the sexual.
I strive for reverence.
For deference.
Just ask me my opinion.
Just ask me what I want!
I retrace my steps.
What kept drawing me in?
Was it the din of a woman
slowly saying my name?
A name that sounds childish
even in the best of intentions?
She is the snow.
Beyond being cold, the snow is water
but it’s not wet.
I need hydration.
My throat is dry and you’re making me talk.
Relationships are,
at their core,
impossible.
They are building an ark.
Hoping for a 2x2x2 scenario.
The water is supposed to win.
Your world could be destroyed
or it could simply change.
So I say bring on the destruction!
I always wanted to get you wet.
I love the thought of the debris
and your legs
and your hair
and your thoughts
getting tangled in some God’s decision.
I float above you
as you sink.
Concussed. Doomed.
This is too often my story.
I seek solace in the next time.
When the land is dry again.
When chaos is only a possibility.
When I am clothed,
and warm,
gliding softly through someone’s head.
The next time is,
unfortunately,
always going to be better.
