trophy wife anthology
1.
After making love, after watching him get dressed for work, after he kissed me goodbye - I couldn't sleep.
Sometimes I feel as though I am a bruise waiting for the purple and yellow pigmentation to leave evidence of the transgression. What trans... Then barely a minute later, I get up.
2.
I enjoy clearing the floor, the counter tops, the sinks. Clearing them of dishes and water saturated bits of food and disorganized, partially crumpled papers and clothes that may or may not be clean. Folding dishtowels. Wrinkling fingertips. Washing and drying clothes down in the basement.
It makes me distinctly aware of his absence.
It reminds me he's coming back.
3.
Peanut butter and jelly.
Hot chocolate.
The truth is, I would make nothing fabulous for myself at all. I would be content to eat pasta and bottled fettucine alfedo sauce or hot dogs with mustard. Or perhaps to survive on coffee and tea and cigarettes and parfaits and small salads.
I will seek out delicious meals. I will pull my thighs tightly together and squirm in my seat as the flavour hits my tastebuds in waves. I will smile faintly, or boldly.
But the truth is, I would try to survive on almost nothing.
I am rich for you.
4.
Slips
and black clothing
and gardenia body lotion
and jasmine tea
and sketchbooks
and charcoal smears
and oil paint
and white lilies
and paper lanterns
and freedom
and a sharp tongue
and singing in the studio
and unplanned picnics
and laughter
and cherry blossoms in D.C.
and climbing bridges
and red leaves
and the sound of trains late at night
These things have a lot of substance. I brought them all in my two hands, in my chest, in my head.
You have given me things I did not care enough to give myself.
Some good meals
and love making
and Hayden
and a comforting voice
and reciprocated honesty
and willingness to accept a promise
and my closest
and someone who agrees we should do it our way
and keeping up with me
and keeping up with him
and matched competence
and understanding
and unstrained silence
and a partner in crime
and a million inside jokes
and something new
5.
That's why I don't just say, "I love you."
I say, "Thank you."
Thank you for you.
6.
Still, I wish he would have told me about that letter. Mentioned it casually between what I did today and so when you're here... People should never just find things. I am not a detective. Don't make me pick apart the pieces and determine the plot.
7.
I know better.
I know.
And I'm not worried. I'm just not used to caring this much.
8.
Recharging Venus.
Remember, I'm erotique, but not like Picasso's babes. I'm not vulger. I'm not careless. I won't fuck just anywhere. (Usually.) Intensity. Desire. Aggressivity. Softness.
I'm in your shower. I'm standing naked in your bathroom brushing my teeth with my toothbrush and your toothpaste. See, that's teamwork. And that's all I want.
9.
Yes.
I enjoy the thought of him coming in and looking around, knowing I had cleaned up the house. I think about this as I'm folding his clothes or sweeping the white linoleum kitchen floor. I hear his voice telling me I shouldn't have cleaned up after those slacker housemates of his.
But I know you like it when its clean, and I don't mind really.
Briefly, I'll forget that I'm leaving (too) soon...
10.
"What do you think it'll be like living together?"
"Laughter."
Thank you.
After making love, after watching him get dressed for work, after he kissed me goodbye - I couldn't sleep.
Sometimes I feel as though I am a bruise waiting for the purple and yellow pigmentation to leave evidence of the transgression. What trans... Then barely a minute later, I get up.
2.
I enjoy clearing the floor, the counter tops, the sinks. Clearing them of dishes and water saturated bits of food and disorganized, partially crumpled papers and clothes that may or may not be clean. Folding dishtowels. Wrinkling fingertips. Washing and drying clothes down in the basement.
It makes me distinctly aware of his absence.
It reminds me he's coming back.
3.
Peanut butter and jelly.
Hot chocolate.
The truth is, I would make nothing fabulous for myself at all. I would be content to eat pasta and bottled fettucine alfedo sauce or hot dogs with mustard. Or perhaps to survive on coffee and tea and cigarettes and parfaits and small salads.
I will seek out delicious meals. I will pull my thighs tightly together and squirm in my seat as the flavour hits my tastebuds in waves. I will smile faintly, or boldly.
But the truth is, I would try to survive on almost nothing.
I am rich for you.
4.
Slips
and black clothing
and gardenia body lotion
and jasmine tea
and sketchbooks
and charcoal smears
and oil paint
and white lilies
and paper lanterns
and freedom
and a sharp tongue
and singing in the studio
and unplanned picnics
and laughter
and cherry blossoms in D.C.
and climbing bridges
and red leaves
and the sound of trains late at night
These things have a lot of substance. I brought them all in my two hands, in my chest, in my head.
You have given me things I did not care enough to give myself.
Some good meals
and love making
and Hayden
and a comforting voice
and reciprocated honesty
and willingness to accept a promise
and my closest
and someone who agrees we should do it our way
and keeping up with me
and keeping up with him
and matched competence
and understanding
and unstrained silence
and a partner in crime
and a million inside jokes
and something new
5.
That's why I don't just say, "I love you."
I say, "Thank you."
Thank you for you.
6.
Still, I wish he would have told me about that letter. Mentioned it casually between what I did today and so when you're here... People should never just find things. I am not a detective. Don't make me pick apart the pieces and determine the plot.
7.
I know better.
I know.
And I'm not worried. I'm just not used to caring this much.
8.
Recharging Venus.
Remember, I'm erotique, but not like Picasso's babes. I'm not vulger. I'm not careless. I won't fuck just anywhere. (Usually.) Intensity. Desire. Aggressivity. Softness.
I'm in your shower. I'm standing naked in your bathroom brushing my teeth with my toothbrush and your toothpaste. See, that's teamwork. And that's all I want.
9.
Yes.
I enjoy the thought of him coming in and looking around, knowing I had cleaned up the house. I think about this as I'm folding his clothes or sweeping the white linoleum kitchen floor. I hear his voice telling me I shouldn't have cleaned up after those slacker housemates of his.
But I know you like it when its clean, and I don't mind really.
Briefly, I'll forget that I'm leaving (too) soon...
10.
"What do you think it'll be like living together?"
"Laughter."
Thank you.