Receiver

"Do you feel that?"
she asked the hair behind
his ear with
her breath.

"Feel what?"
the other end
of the receiver
crackled in response.

"Distance,"
her tongue answered,
sliding
over cartilage to take
the lobe
between her teeth.

"I don't know what you mean,"
the receiver said,
inflecting its crackle like
its statement was more
of a question than any
statement could be.

I hate you.

You should have left me,
broken and undercover.
Maybe I could have saved this,
restored a martyred lover.

Instead you came back crying
for a shoulder and a kiss.
You goddamn fool I loved you
before you walked away like this.

Now I break before the dawn
under the weight of words so grey,
and I'll pull on my plastic smile
that lies so easily to your face.

For when I curl up next to you,
burying my face upon your chest,
and fall asleep to door number three-
which option- Not the best.

Now I know reality
and the truth that it foretells.
You should have walked away that day
and left me to my hells.

Purgatory, a quiet hearth,
and Hell a sauna steamed.
Because having all of you,
yet none of this,
is a nightmare, not a dream.

If Only

If only she were dressed in white
and held her mother's hand too tight.
And smiled at the bumblebees,
and asked for, "A cookie please."

Now she wears her skinny jeans
and falls in love with piercings.
Ink just below an olive tone
shows mother where the years have gone.

"I'm not a baby, mama,"
she smiles at the phone.
"I need to live my life now,
I promise I'll come home."