This Is How

Absentminded musings of time
leak between life and shallow pools of
unfamiliar sex and twilight cocktails.


Mingling among casual context,
chance surreptitiously takes shape
in the serpentine ribbons of heat unwinding
from citrus and chamomile and ceramic.


Inaudible whispers of pause separate the instance of
one thousand twenty nights,
and thoughts heedlessly venture forward,
slipping past well paid wardens of weakness,
to a time when the green sprinkles we bought yesterday at the grocery store
are expected to expire.

I don't think he noticed. 

cloudburst

Dreamy eyes open slowly
to baritone grumbles,
long and lowly,

crawling across the sky.

Ashen light soaks through thin blinds
and perfectly triangular ears
listen -
regarding the morning rain.

He is brave,
but he settles more tightly into
the hollow of my belly
anyway.


---


Later,
it is pouring -
hard
at the end of a concrete hallway
as I stand before floor to ceiling glass
and
I wish the water would
swallow me whole.

Body Cumbersome

My legs wet sandbags.

My eyelids leaded curtains.

My bones rusted gears. 

This hour of the morning doesn't come easy, but it does come fast.

My calves are aching from leading four hours of lecture in four inch heels. Why did I do that? 

Eavesdropping on the students one day, Nina overheard them list my name in the "Top Three Hottest Teachers" category. I laughed out loud. 

How easily these corn-fed boys are trapped into ranking beauty by blonde highlights and knee high boots. Would they think so highly of me if they heard my dirty mouth? If they knew my secrets? If they saw my body covered in ink? Certainly not if they heard me sing the words to Razorblade like I mean it.  

Those boys have no idea how truly fucking beautiful I am. 

And yet, I wake up early to scrape away the sand, peel off the lead and paint over the rust. I apply a new face and dress up as if my mother had ever taught me how to be pretty. 

Like spoons in a drawer.

His arm is heavy at my waist. His chest is pressed against my back. He is not snoring, but the warmth of his breath on my neck is steady.

It is freezing outside. He keeps me warm. He wants me here.

It's not often that I feel small, but he wraps me up like a child. He keeps me safe.

And still I am unsure.

He loves me. He loves me not.
Is this for real?
I don't want to stay in this place. It's too cold.
I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

Good morning.

That feeling in the morning..

I don't mean the one that groans to stay cocooned in cotton sheets and thick down even after hitting snooze for the third time. Or the one that nuzzles his heavy, restful body with half-hearted hopes that he'd turn over and run his sleepy fingers down my naked belly. Good morning.

I mean the feeling that comes after these, when I acknowledge the day ahead. When groggy plans for a nap immediately following the 7AM meeting are foiled by the caffeine and great intentions of productivity.

Here I am.

xx
Lulu