and oh
how our
cramped apartment
never had enough space
to say what
words we breathed

staring at the
dark stain on the carpet
evidence of

rustling my hair
lips rich and claiming
fullness in this deep longing

like the carpet
I felt stained.

We had no great plan
no cleverly crafted future
paid the bills with
your job at the gas station
and all this writing of words

at night
while you slept
i sketched them out on
your shoulder blades
so that when you woke
you would be stained with
deep ink

and when you ran
to other lovers
they would know
the soured hope of
the girl waiting
in cooling sheets.


About this entry