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My Blog
 
Welcome to my blog!
Keywords | Title View | Refer to a Friend |
Notes For Further Study
Posted:Jul 3, 2018 2:23 pm
Last Updated:Jul 3, 2018 2:23 pm
992 Views

You are a nobody
until another man leaves
a note under your wiper:
I like your hair, clothes, car—call me!
Late May, I brush pink
Crepe Myrtle blossoms
from the hood of my car.
Again spring factors
into our fever. Would this
affair leave any room for error?
What if I only want
him to hum me a lullaby.
To rest in the nets
of our own preferences.
I think of women
I’ve loved who, near the end,
made love to me solely
for the endorphins. Praise
be to those bodies lit
with magic. I pulse
my wipers, sweep away pollen
from the windshield glass
to allow the radar
detector to detect. In the prim
light of spring I drive
home alone along the river’s
tight curves where it bends
like handwritten words.
On the radio, a foreign love
song some men sing to rise.
1 comment

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Notes For Further Study (1)japaneseass
Jul 3, 2018 5:31 pm