If You're Not A Romantic
Don’t tell her
there are steps
on her spine
you’d like to climb
or that she’s
the reason
behind rhymes
because there’s
more to her
than the crescent
moons encapsulating
her lips
and the phases
of her smile.
Don’t tell her
she’s got hyacinth
or thistle
in her veins,
that the plains of
her palms
are gates to secret gardens.
Tell her
she’s ashes
and smoke,
the burn of
Southern Comfort
on your throat
and all of those
acquired tastes
you’d miss
if you had to go
without them
for a day.
Clean Bed Sheets
This is the part where you undress.
Say “I love you” with a mouth full of food.
Spit out the words like a loose hair.
Be civil.
Wipe the corners of your mouth.
Tell everyone you went further than you did.
Ruin her reputation like her bed sheets.
She can no longer sleep here alone.
She fills your side of the bed with
condoms and other boys and clean bed sheets.
Convince her that she asked for it,
remind her you did nothing wrong.
Tell your friends that it was easy.
She unfolded like a dinner napkin.
When they ask if she was a lady,
tell them you have never heard the word.
Convince them you only speak boxer sweat.
Say she is fluent in keeping her mouth shut.
Be civil.
Wash your hands before you eat.
This is the part where you get dressed.
Gather her things from the foot of the bed.
Say “I love you” like you bit your tongue.
When she asks if you are grown,
answer “Yes.”
Look away.
Always answer “Yes.”
