Thursday, 27 October 2011

from december 08

Insecurities

You approach just as snow settles in my lashes.
I blink uncontrollably, veil
the temporary twitch, smeared mascara and flush
with a turn of face.

Nice words but I can just hear the ones smothered by your politeness:
“They say you’re addicted to speed, smoke a pack a day,
are sexually needy, and well, you’re brash.”
Boy, I guess you got me.

Would you believe I am a series of numbers?
Memorize 10 bitten fingernails,
4 dimples (2 lower back and 2 cheek),
and 3 faded black tattoos (anchor, fleur de lis and firecracker).

Would you believe I am the 61 contacts in my phonebook,
the 8 cigarettes left in my pack?
Connect the 6 freckles on my left shoulder...
I’ve been told they form a phallus.

You approach just as snow settles in my lashes.
I press the 10 brittle cuticles into my palms,
cross the 2 skinny arms, lick the 2 chapped lips,
and throw away the 7 cigarettes now left in my pack—
all in vain.

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