I love your nude from a distance.
I never say that.
On a bed, under the white
sheets, I say, Don’t touch my breasts
when I write.
The lead of a pencil crumbles. I wipe
my wet palm on the blue notebook.
I want you to turn off
the television and hold my hand. I am lying
curled up and my legs
knock your left thigh. Your bruise does not heal
like your first marriage.
(You are drowsy.)
Did you pay rent?
I repeat twenty seven times by your ear.
(You softly nod.)
The silver stars are
peeling from the sky. I scream,
Don’t you dare sleep before me.
the alarm-clock into the wall.
Jupiter falls into the sun
and the whole universe is fucking
I want that.
***Note: A part of the first line is from “A Neon Tryst” by Lina Ramona Vitkauskas.