this woman liked to let her hair go langey; liked to go greasy
she popped bottles and stopp’t pops, wrote petunias in lace
made mountains from married men, made fountains from the women
wrote letters with citrus, keeping records all along, keeping
detail while she popp’t while she rode stringy while she hangs sleepy
filmy he awakes: minutes or miles, she running on, popp’t aware
stopp’t at morning, he finds only water and rocks, steam and lava.
transposed or transferred her greasy her arms would pop his, bottle theirs, hang around cypress or acacia, like morgues or memories, his choice; dreams manifest as only sleep in the corner of her eye, in oil on his skin at waking. She only reacts; he only suffers.
at times her crackling was more aggressive than her trinkling and his stare was heavier than lust; at times their monogamy became a formality, a frame for their photographs. at times her lust became lighter than love and left little but vapor, settling at dawn on his chin.
March 2007