1424

A conversation:

Pulling grey wool from grey wool.

Pulling seashells

from seashells

pink necklaces

and your teeth

bright

under bowling alley lights.

Remembering

but not enough

divination

so no big surprise

no big enough

not enough

no big surprise.

Coughing fits

between making love

that’s how you make

a dove disappear.

I was a lover

wrapped in your nest

my chin above

my face

lips peeking through

the little

hole we made

grandma’s quilt

no place to hide.

I feel like

I know you so much

better under these lights

pulling grey wool

under your tongue

I’m just flesh and blood.

Whiskey and prayer

cliche and

hell

why don’t we just

nod our heads

bend down

crash landing

bow our heads

in silence:

I remember the

coolness of your lips

at three

and the way

your hips moved

when you climbed atop of me.

I remember making love

and holding you

with your arms

around my neck

twenty seashells

wrapped around my neck.

I remember the rain and sweat

on your forehead

before you left

after you came.

I was flesh and blood

burying your kisses

for the night

you finally up and left

your earrings on the

nightstand

your body

entombed in roses

lilies

gone.

And just before

I remember at the bar

vomiting

by graffiti asking me to

vote for Bush.

I was so sure

I was home

I forgot to check the address.