Romance Is A Misappropriated Soul

A song lodged in memory

Its beat far too familiar

A sound like a sound to want to stop knowing

Heaving frond: breath of a palm tree

Against morning’s buzz glow

The panes of that window begging for a palm print

Historical, your laugh

Like a busted flute, my grin

Shiny healthy crazy: a bastard, his lover and pouring rain

Three even steppes, the molding

White outside, rotten on the inside

Corners that would grope if not immobile

The swamp of a kiss laid bare

Tooth marks skimming at bed’s edge

Tousled hair beneath fingernails, hostage memoir

“Welcome,” a his voice;

“You’re,” a hers;

Him. And. Her. And thrice, misappropriated romance a body-seeker.

Getting Closer [or] Venn Diagram For Lovers

A whack job: you said you were he
And I was she.
I said: Are you sure you don’t mean
Whack off?
He said: no that’s Jack.

Then I lost my patience
And he misplaced the keys.
Son of a bitch
He said you shouldn’t speak ill of
Your father.
Gut you like a fish, I promised.

Irascible rascal and suffering summer
squash I muttered.
I heard that, he said, maybe
I’ll just sleep here.
Wouldn’t be the first time
No I guess that’s true he
Acquiesced from the toilet.

A frying pan flew against the door
Divine intervention I called it.
Don’t, he whined: you’ll dent the frame.
This isn’t about bodies I countered
Then why are you throwing things
He whined again.

I’m not: the words from my mouth.
I can’t love you the same when you lie:
The invection from his throat.
If I can’t lie I’ll lay
I cajoled unfairly.
Why do you insist on getting limbic
He sort of refuted.
It’s my prerogative I hummed
Well humdinger and R&B zinger:
I’ll be right out, stay right there, alright:
He suggested.
A yawn: maybe; I implied.