and i had to admit
to her the extent of it. say
my name to her and
explain to her that
yes, i am ingesting red today;
at midnight i cut my finger
sewing together newspapers
that i wanted to wrap your present
in with twine. i wanted to
put a poem on the inside of the
comic strip, but i couldn't write
over the colors on the pages so
i wrote it on the obituaries.
i don't find death very creative
so it started with 'roses' and ended with 'blue'
and everything in between felt like
a prepositional phrase. then i wrapped
the present wrong so the poem
wasn't even hidden. i picked it
up and threw it
out of my car window on the
eight east and told myself
that someday i'll be good enough.
i cut my finger and i licked off the blood.
that was when i started swallowing my rouge.
They put hot sauce on my burrito
even though I ordered a taco and
asked for guacamole
they gave me a burrito with salsa
and i thought that a scene at
the taco shop seemed unnecessary
so I told my mom that we should
probably just go.
my parents have been married for twenty-five years
so they got an edible bouquet which i
picked through for the chocolate-covered
strawberries as i poured myself a bottle of
merlot and sat in front of a blank sheet
of paper and wondered if i will still be able
to manage to love you more every day than
the day before in twenty-five years.
probability says that i will have died.
but the breeze in my bedroom just smelled
like you.
isn't it funny how it seems like my bed is
just my size--crimson and sized just right--
and then i remember how nice you looked
lying by my side and i turn off the
light and i let you become an almost-tangible
almost-figure in my almost-
sleepless night.
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