radical boyfriends

You pretty little scorpion
on his nightstand. You mosquito

flying into our bedroom
carrying all your not-malaria.

Imagine me a frog, long tongue
slithering out to swallow you

whole. Imagine him, warm,
asleep beside me. While you wait

for his response, phone poised
in your hand like a rattlesnake.

—  Clementine von Radics, Ode To The Girl Texting My Boyfriend In The Middle Of The Night
Every poem is about you. Even the ones
about other people, they’re for your eyes
only. Everyone else who reads this is just a stranger
looking through the window at us.
It always comes back to you.
It will always come back to you.