Sexy Summer

I want you obsessed with me—

addicted to the sound of my voice
and the smell of my hair.

Not just you—everyone.

Both bad boys and good girls,
crawling on their knees,
ready to drink me in—

Dripping syrup like a root beer
sucked through a straw—

while I sprinkle breadcrumbs,
real Hansel and Gretel style.

Freestyle.

Pinch a petal,
a pinch of ground beef.

Eat raw meat like
our ancestors once did.

Lie in moldy, goldy grass,
rank enough to draw flies,
dank as the spores
in our bellies.

Be held until midnight,
and fuck like that
sometimes—

glass to ass,
cool and smooth,
subtle like that.

'Cause I may not know
an honest day's work,
but I know what I like.

Subterfuge

I like smelling like patchouli

and rotting fruit, so sweet

it makes you sick.

And I want you to place

your face in my palm,

let your head drop heavy.

I've been trying to heal,

pussy forward and up,

and it's not working.

So skin to skin tonight,

hand in hand, fingers locked.

Pull this knot to your heart,

and let me listen once again,

like you really meant it when you said:

Time can heal all.

Nicotine Dream

My fictional internet boyfriend
rewired my brain,
and now I'm okay.

Which begs the question:

What the fuck is still wrong with you?

I could be a stoner babe in Florida—
smoking in the A/C.
Or go to the Midwest,
try to recreate a past
that's been dead.
Or go full red-pill housewife—
an honest thought, sometimes.

When I've got future on future
on deck, and time to fiddle it out—

so what the fuck you
worryin' 'bout?

an indignation

complicit silence

throat chakra

I had a reiki session, and she said my throat chakra was super blocked. Two weeks later, at another session, she said, "Your throat chakra isn't nearly as blocked as before, but it built up again in a short time. What aren't you voicing?"

It was evening when it happened. Ever so subtle and slight, the shift, when he said, "It's going to start getting darker," and took a long drink from the cup in his hand and peered inquisitively at the sky.

But the summer equinox was two weeks ago. It had already begun getting darker. Maybe he hadn't noticed. I didn't feel it, just knew it from the calendar. But notice or not, there is still a minute less of light each day. The shrinking of the sun. Little by little, chipping away, and the darkness taking over again.

For a moment, I thought about correcting him. Thought about saying, "It already has!" Started rambling about how it had started two weeks ago and he was late. But I didn't.

It's not that I censor myself, but I don't voice everything I think. But really, what is the point of reminding someone it's been getting darker even longer? That it's only going to get dimmer and dimmer, when we'll circle back and it will all be sunshine and fresh watermelon and summertime again next year?

The seasons will turn and change, and it will be dark and light and dark and light, and I will be different in some ways and the same in others. Whether I said anything or not, the days would shorten either way. Eventually, growing long again.