sheets & dismissing
the inelegant motion, the purple turmoil.
drink more than you can,
because you can.
& make conversation
out of obligation,
not desire.
take the cordial curtain down,
it bows to indicate submission;
so precarious & knowing all
these secrets.
i blow back dust
from the window sill
to the sounds of radiohead, eskimo joe, et al.
waiting, waiting but i should be finding new excuses
& dallying with fine gentlemen who will
allow me leave from you, who will
take this simple complication
to a conclusion.
& leatherbound books & stairway smells
which counter the powder dropped on the floor
like fountains of chiffon, of paper trails
that mark the end.
i do not fear you
how could i stand it?
tea cups talk to me about
sweet somethings. i lie
in bed with chipped nailpolish
& a novel which details
madmen, jukeboxes,
girls in cotton frocks.
you never talk to me,
you never listen.
except when pressing
an ear to my mouth.