Have heard
my felicity –
 the diva inside my quietness
& how she sings




-




Last night I wore a serpent
around my neck, like Eve.
Every Sunday is like this – 
melancholy





-





Wishing I weren’t so
unapproachable – so – steeped
in loss
& (sometimes) decadence





-





Not really sure I’m that, either –
Surprised to confront it:
the beauty
I afford



 

-





Impossible to discern:
screen of my abundance.
Another ghosting
by another man –  





-



 

Easy to want – wanting
flows & overflows –
its direction
much more difficult





-





Nothing matters less to me
than insight –
Give me
insight –





-





The patience required
in this bored hour, not solemn
not agitated
– expressionless





-





The page is smooth, tender
like my shaved legs.
Good.
The cream is expensive.





-





Suddenly, nothing is sudden.
All rotates casually
& with a slowness
I can’t help but hate





-





Still in my mind – on my tongue –
the married man I kissed.
How hard that made him –
now I am a woman.





-





No, not to worry, they are separated.
Co-parenting –
my precision is
very demanding





-





When a boy
I was too careless w/ silence.
Today
I fill it up





-



 

Whittled down, my wishing –
an abbreviated force
still strong enough,
exhausting





-





Play it cool, uninterested even.
But what’s the use?
I told myself
I wouldn’t lie



 

-





Things with “personality” :
this tree, those words,
his legs
in tiny shorts





-





The man on the app asked me
to spit in his face – I wrote
“You’re not worthy of my spit” – he:
“Yes Goddess”





-



 

Things I don’t like :
cotton balls, neediness,
time,
boredom (can’t even spell it)





-





But my tits are growing –
what a boon!
I offer heavy hours
to their buds



 

-





Is this done?
The progesterone is not.
They gave me a huge supply –
tiny perfect orange spheres





-






Like sprinkles or a ball pit –
traffic-cone color, hi-viz vest –
suns – sweets –
assorted flavors