By ZoE
Date: 21 June 2000
Toilet Trash
I wish this was about me but it is not
I wish this was about the car or the poison ivy growing from under the steps but it is not
a glass of milk I cannot finish
you are flipping through papers, feet elevated, looking like Audrey Hepburn
pouring my milk down the tap, I think of you who before we were anything but atoms on
the same plane looked at me like I was something awkward
telling me that I am different
you are laughing the way I wish I was laughing
as pictures dance on the otherwise vacant wall
In one I am smoking a long cigarette like a corrupt movie star in a pale dress
(I do not remember this)
as night propells itself forward, we walk to the corner of your filmy colored street and
smoke parliments straight from your bare hands with the trees
your hair swaying like full moon tide
You play with the edges of my notebook, the corners of your mouth turned down
you are humming songs I do not like
I wish every song was yours to keep in your blue jacket pocket, your hair smelling like an
orchid
writing you a whimsical song in my sleep without words
I climb on to the shadowy roof
our old car peeking from the darkness
I am hardly in control
I want to tell you all these jumbled phrases I collected in a dark dance that made things
almost too vivid
and it is only when I lost you that I admired your angular features
Smelling your 5 finger discount perfume
I knew
this is where I had wanted to be
in harmony with your tangled eyes
Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner