andrew
you woke to the hot hot heat
of a brown fleece electronic blanket
it's span warming your ankles to your waist.
Your sweatshirt, unzipped has wrapped around your neck
pulling your left arm up in an imitation of a sling.
theres the loud sound of heels, booted heels, cowboy heels
clopping around the next room. A hollow loud banging.
You can tell it's Andrew. the spaces between steps. The
ceaselessness of it. You imagine him smoking by the window
blonde dirty hair spilling over his left eye
then clop clop clop to the butcher block in the center of the kitchen
where he'll sip from a jelly jar of ginger whiskey and ice,
then clop clop clop back to the window,
where he exhales a cloud of cold breath and smoke
slivers of dirt darkening his fingernails.
You imagine him wearing the blue jeans he borrowed from his rich friend
an italian brand name, that hold his ass and crotch tightly but flair slightly
at the knee, and slide easily into the open top
of his untied combat boots.
You reach for your buzzing phone with your free right arm
and knock your glasses to the floor.
the small screen light turns your hand blue
Andrew continues to clop, you imagine his frayed and fraying denim
jacket bare at the backs of the shoulders, his hands jumping
in the air as he talks in that strange twisted tired accent of his.
His mustache quivering at the lip of the glass as he drinks deep
on the booze. You rememeber to two nights ago
as you sat sadly on a bench by the bar, almost too drunk to remember,
while he held you by the shoulders and told you for
twenty minutes exactly how you were amazing, with the force
and conviction of the religious, political or insane.
spittle flying from his fast moving lips landing cooly
on your cheek. The force of his words
his grip on your shoulders holding you up
pressed back against a cool wet wall.
YOu remember try to remember the words exactly
you dig at your memory now, he clops back and forth
you push down at the sleep that grabs you by the warm legs
he clops as you blink against the light from your phone screen
he clops and you read the words from an ex lover
they say
"hello."
clop clop clop
You imagine him sipping cold coffee from the black and white striped mug.
You imagine his wild
and lovely cool blue eyes, with the long girlish lashes, light colored
and red in the sun. you imagine his fingerelss gloves unraveling at
his fingers and wrists.
You imagine he smallness of his waist and the coral colored button up
shirt he wears tucked in.
2.
Remember when you fucked him? really. remember that? late at night on a sunday
it was raining then and cold it must have been february.
and you got him back to your place because everytime he talked to you
he'd put his hand on your waist with just a little pressure pulling you in.
You had to drink more before you brought him home, you had to drink
because you were embarrassed that you liked him, that somehow he'd figured out
you'd do it with him. the kissing, the holding, as if you'd been obvious
when all you'd been was quiet, shy and drunk. Remember walking home the three blocks from the club all the streets and sidewalk wetly reflecting streetlights and car lights. Reemmber that you might not have used a condom
that when you woke the next morning you were gripped with anxiety
immobolized, barely able to choke out words of salutation, hollow empty sounding htings
about the weather and the day and the time before he left, while you huddled
under your non electric comforter, the filling clumped irregularly inside its case, not keeping you warm exactly.
Remember how just a few months ago
you realized you could fall for him. if he would let you. if you would let him let you.
yeah but now he's stomping around in the next room, while you struggle
between the horror of staying in bed and the horror of getting up,
the flavor of sleep strong in your mouth, a meaningles text message on your phone and your glasses on the floor.
of a brown fleece electronic blanket
it's span warming your ankles to your waist.
Your sweatshirt, unzipped has wrapped around your neck
pulling your left arm up in an imitation of a sling.
theres the loud sound of heels, booted heels, cowboy heels
clopping around the next room. A hollow loud banging.
You can tell it's Andrew. the spaces between steps. The
ceaselessness of it. You imagine him smoking by the window
blonde dirty hair spilling over his left eye
then clop clop clop to the butcher block in the center of the kitchen
where he'll sip from a jelly jar of ginger whiskey and ice,
then clop clop clop back to the window,
where he exhales a cloud of cold breath and smoke
slivers of dirt darkening his fingernails.
You imagine him wearing the blue jeans he borrowed from his rich friend
an italian brand name, that hold his ass and crotch tightly but flair slightly
at the knee, and slide easily into the open top
of his untied combat boots.
You reach for your buzzing phone with your free right arm
and knock your glasses to the floor.
the small screen light turns your hand blue
Andrew continues to clop, you imagine his frayed and fraying denim
jacket bare at the backs of the shoulders, his hands jumping
in the air as he talks in that strange twisted tired accent of his.
His mustache quivering at the lip of the glass as he drinks deep
on the booze. You rememeber to two nights ago
as you sat sadly on a bench by the bar, almost too drunk to remember,
while he held you by the shoulders and told you for
twenty minutes exactly how you were amazing, with the force
and conviction of the religious, political or insane.
spittle flying from his fast moving lips landing cooly
on your cheek. The force of his words
his grip on your shoulders holding you up
pressed back against a cool wet wall.
YOu remember try to remember the words exactly
you dig at your memory now, he clops back and forth
you push down at the sleep that grabs you by the warm legs
he clops as you blink against the light from your phone screen
he clops and you read the words from an ex lover
they say
"hello."
clop clop clop
You imagine him sipping cold coffee from the black and white striped mug.
You imagine his wild
and lovely cool blue eyes, with the long girlish lashes, light colored
and red in the sun. you imagine his fingerelss gloves unraveling at
his fingers and wrists.
You imagine he smallness of his waist and the coral colored button up
shirt he wears tucked in.
2.
Remember when you fucked him? really. remember that? late at night on a sunday
it was raining then and cold it must have been february.
and you got him back to your place because everytime he talked to you
he'd put his hand on your waist with just a little pressure pulling you in.
You had to drink more before you brought him home, you had to drink
because you were embarrassed that you liked him, that somehow he'd figured out
you'd do it with him. the kissing, the holding, as if you'd been obvious
when all you'd been was quiet, shy and drunk. Remember walking home the three blocks from the club all the streets and sidewalk wetly reflecting streetlights and car lights. Reemmber that you might not have used a condom
that when you woke the next morning you were gripped with anxiety
immobolized, barely able to choke out words of salutation, hollow empty sounding htings
about the weather and the day and the time before he left, while you huddled
under your non electric comforter, the filling clumped irregularly inside its case, not keeping you warm exactly.
Remember how just a few months ago
you realized you could fall for him. if he would let you. if you would let him let you.
yeah but now he's stomping around in the next room, while you struggle
between the horror of staying in bed and the horror of getting up,
the flavor of sleep strong in your mouth, a meaningles text message on your phone and your glasses on the floor.
Post a Comment