He lives inside a word that I
can’t accept. But it’s folded under the
hem of my dress, absorbed into
the threads of my slippery stockings.
Dazzling takes its forgotten breath
and exhales a letter, for me to run
in my nail crevice. His fingers feather
Her starbuck eyes fluttered when
you first kissed her, or forget?
the cinnamon envelope until my eyes
sweat. Cut little minx. I submit
and dedicate a drawer to his monarchy.
His frosted blood makes my earlobes
drip, each promise ever-growing.
The biggest are quickly beheaded. He stacks
All the cuddles are regretted in
her left breast pocket, are they?
the heads, braiding the hair together, and
makes a mountain for his abode. His hands
refuse to sleep in my drawer so I whisper
them to dreams. I don’t think I ever told him
how much I miss the rug burn on my elbows. Now
I’m tapping the jar that holds me, wondering
Did your fleurette leave any fingerprints?
if it will ring when it splinters on the
cherrywood. I don’t harbor his address
anymore, but he promises to give it to me soon.
Good Fruit 