Domestic Poems
rating: +10+x


Stuttered home after work. My legs were bowing

and my breath preserved. All day I imagined being

ensnared in you, untimely asleep on the couch,

so I dropped my head in your arms

and let you hold me like a bouquet. Now with my eyes

closed I saw

plastic knobs and

color-coded cables.

I couldn't seem to get it right. A couch-sleeper?!

Rainfall (While walking from work)

Rain always instituting the sign of the circle,

and too often too gray, though sometimes sun

breaks on the water sparking in descent.

By advent it flashes faint fire on the arcades.

I often called this a sunshower; Dad has

a name for it not worth repeating. Regardless

it is water. The angles of sunlight don't flatter

drops into triangles or squares upon arrival

in beaches or bowls, car roofs and hands. Our balcony.

It could not matter how much I enjoy this weather.

How regular it is, that all rain and sun-rain is alike

undeserved by the geometers of Earth.

Law of Dogs

I would die to save you.

But I would die to save you. Really. All this drama because of Saw?

Sitting in bed with legs crossed, eating canned peaches

and the laptop dimming. Horror is not romance.

Neither of us knows what we are asking of each other,

to survive; to be loved without choice.

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