These words are difficult to string together.
I am frightened of what their sum may mean.
I cannot speak them aloud to another,
or else she may have the power—
to put me in my grave.
You have tortured me,
gazing over my shoulder;
And now I wish to sing to you my unbroken praise:
My love is lipstick on a virgin,
smeared before she learns—
he was not worth the wait.
I’d like to take you to a movie
so I can watch your outline—
from the back row in the dark.
I’d like to take you out to dinner
so I can memorize
the way you hold a fork.
The world is barren of our sort of passion,
because it chews us—
like a dragon to her knight.
I am the steam
when you hear the whistle.
I am waiting for my release.
I am built—
of never-ending longing.
I am pushing the dirt up—
with my leaves.
I am flowering for a child’s wonder.
And I die as she cuts me off
and hooks me on her sleeve.
Will you come—
to my birthday party?
Nobody has RSVP’d.
I think your kiss is several years belated,
but it is still reserved under my name.
I have balloons hanging at my altar.
I have an endless supply of pink silly string.
I have a birthday cake with twenty nine candles.
And the thirtieth is being blown—
before I slice my piece.