Creamy, sweet,

thick curling smoke that drifted

from between my parted lips

and left aftertastes of charred vanilla

nestling coyly on my pointed tongue

Could I go back,

that's how

I would have recounted

my affair with the cigar

for the look you gave

when I could not describe the flavor

burns a hole in me

even on this cold and distant day

I learned the difference

between Phillips and flat

from my single mother

Who knew her way

around workshops

big box coffee tables

and bookshelves

She taught me,

as her father taught her

unaware of its true necessity

Like her, I would

have to assemble

these things

by myself

I honestly would prefer you'd leave them in the ground. Or give them to me in a pot or something.

Yeah, I know you're trying to be nice. It is nice. But I don't think you get it.

This is how it always goes with you. These grand gestures. Things you think I want. Things you think I should want. But I don't. You never asked. You just assumed.

Lots of women like these things, sure.

But I'm not lots of women.

I'm me.

I'm not trying to be ungrateful. I know it's expensive. But expensive treats and material things were never what I wanted from you. I tried to tell you that. You gave me more of what I didn't need and none of what I did.

Just stop. Please don't send me flowers.

I'm not the girl for you.

There once was a girl named Sadie

Thought to be a charming lady

"Take me at my worst"

"He should have changed first"

She seems to have trouble dating

He likes to pour milk

into the bittersweet black,

moving, with moonlight

.

.

.

Drown me

wash my sins

in the waves formed

from neglect, the

drip, drip, dripping

from smiles gone askew

I thirst

for icy water

that closes my throat

but demands each hair

stand on its end,

ready to be touched

I thrash

along the waves

catching glimpses

of sandy beaches

trying to remember

what it's like to be ashore

I saw it the morning you left

Something about the way the light hit your face

The way your disheveled hair laid on your head

The strands were angelic in the early light

There was something in your voice

Or maybe it was the veiled sentiments

falling from your lips

I knew

I had to let you go

I knew

I had to take you in my heart

feel you with my soul

Sometimes, goodbye

only lasts a little while

I dreamed of holding you again

Laying my sleeping hand on your chest

Breathe in your pheromones and cologne

I knew

where I should have found sorrow

there was peace

I spent so much time terrified by a book. A little blue book, filled with practical and profound knowledge. I was terrified of its pages, of what the words might suggest. I feared its characters, of what I might see.

I avoided it—at first.

I was scared. I saw notions sparking within your eyes

But I read it.

And with heavy heart and heavy head, I accepted the notion within your eye. Because now, they burn in mine.