sassafras and pistachios
This morning: getting from asleep in bed with Sam to rushing through the gallery doors in fifteen minutes flat. I wouldn't have thought it possible.
Last night: staying up past dawn in conversation with him, three cups of black iced tea with milk. Padding about the kitchen in the nude, sprawling on the couch with limbs entwined.
The earnestly posed question: What's a girl like me to do?
My loose hair licking or feathering my shoulder blades, my breasts; my narrowing eyes sly and glistering.
Lately they've looked so narrow and worn.
On the bus I composed an odd little poem:
My lover departs tomorrow,
My comrade arrives today.
My lover shall nurse his sorrow,
My comrade keep his at bay
With a whip and a chair, and mustachios
Curled round like butterflies' tongues.
He shall eat sassafras and pistachios,
He shall dine on livers and lungs.
Last night: staying up past dawn in conversation with him, three cups of black iced tea with milk. Padding about the kitchen in the nude, sprawling on the couch with limbs entwined.
The earnestly posed question: What's a girl like me to do?
My loose hair licking or feathering my shoulder blades, my breasts; my narrowing eyes sly and glistering.
Lately they've looked so narrow and worn.
On the bus I composed an odd little poem:
My lover departs tomorrow,
My comrade arrives today.
My lover shall nurse his sorrow,
My comrade keep his at bay
With a whip and a chair, and mustachios
Curled round like butterflies' tongues.
He shall eat sassafras and pistachios,
He shall dine on livers and lungs.