It is too hot for August.
I pull the windows down like panties.
Where I come from
we call that window dressing.
You wouldn’t get it

because you’re a good girl
and you love Jesus and the only
song you dance to is

well, you don’t dance, do you?

I float cubes of frozen desire
along the curve of my spine,
run my wrists under water.
Still my pulse beats, languid
as a lover.

The fan sings to the points
of my nipples, argues that it’s
perfectly reasonable to sweat
behind my knees. Agrees that
it can see what I see in you.

I lure you with snow cones,
invisible igloos, dreams of
sudden winter storms.

You forgot how to open
your legs, but I’m here to
remind you. It’s not at all
like riding a bike through
the gorge in summer heat.

You’re perfect
in your frigidity. The frozen
lake of my sheets promise
come winter everything
will be shored away.

Ice crystals form
in the corners of your eyes,
harden to diamonds
in the hollows of my thighs.
I’ll mine them out.
I’ll help you build this bed
of thorns and tears.


Back of the Envelope

Image taken with iPhone during morning walk.
Words written with super iced soy mocha made just for me.
Ears On First Aid Kit
Time Taken 5 minutes.
Brain On Fuck. I have so much work to do.

This entry was published on July 3, 2012 at 10:08 am and is filed under July, Poems, Seattle, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

One thought on “[159]

  1. You had me at snow cones.

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