love letter to n.
We will not age well, you and me.
The booze has already
taken hold of the skin below our eyes
pulling it, and rouging it.
Your back teeth hurt constantly
and this at 26.
The edges of your index and middle finger tips
browned from the burned down bits of cigarette
you smoke out the broken window in the
living room, or walking down the street
in your black boots, falling apart pants, and
barely a shirt shirt.
My hair retreats from the beach of
my forehead, a slow moving low tide.
Yours too, our widows peaks
framed by curled wispy mouse brown hair,
the heads and hair of babies.
My face's summer redness does not fade
completely anymore in the winter
settling instead in the swolen
pits and lifts of my cheeks and nostrils.
When i dust the make up on my face
at night
it settles chalk like in the fine and
think lines around my eyes.
my skin is not taut.
sleep does not make you look fresh.
Water does not make you look fresh.
we've taken to eating just eggs
and cheese
beef and spinach
cooked into an omelete
or a taco
or boiled sometimes
or a salad.
There is always a whiskey bottle on top of the
refrigerator, and coffee just brewed or about to be,
or heated in a beaker on the stove.
There are only 3 forks but 16 spoons
and your slippers have rubbed though all the way
at the big toe and heel.
When I wake at noon i shuffle through a pile
of dirty pants, greyed shirts, dig out a jockstrap
discarded just hours before.
it's come to this
a jock strap
a hard boiled egg
and the best coffee we can buy.
we are not aging well.
The booze has already
taken hold of the skin below our eyes
pulling it, and rouging it.
Your back teeth hurt constantly
and this at 26.
The edges of your index and middle finger tips
browned from the burned down bits of cigarette
you smoke out the broken window in the
living room, or walking down the street
in your black boots, falling apart pants, and
barely a shirt shirt.
My hair retreats from the beach of
my forehead, a slow moving low tide.
Yours too, our widows peaks
framed by curled wispy mouse brown hair,
the heads and hair of babies.
My face's summer redness does not fade
completely anymore in the winter
settling instead in the swolen
pits and lifts of my cheeks and nostrils.
When i dust the make up on my face
at night
it settles chalk like in the fine and
think lines around my eyes.
my skin is not taut.
sleep does not make you look fresh.
Water does not make you look fresh.
we've taken to eating just eggs
and cheese
beef and spinach
cooked into an omelete
or a taco
or boiled sometimes
or a salad.
There is always a whiskey bottle on top of the
refrigerator, and coffee just brewed or about to be,
or heated in a beaker on the stove.
There are only 3 forks but 16 spoons
and your slippers have rubbed though all the way
at the big toe and heel.
When I wake at noon i shuffle through a pile
of dirty pants, greyed shirts, dig out a jockstrap
discarded just hours before.
it's come to this
a jock strap
a hard boiled egg
and the best coffee we can buy.
we are not aging well.
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