november seventh and eighth // “all art is sensual.” - william carlos williams // i’m really sorry
i.
your quiet defiance
is divided into
smallest parts—
twisted smile,
hearty laugh,
crooked,
searching
gaze.
ii.
i do not sleep
when you come near,
with heavy beating heart
and loftily held stare,
your quicksilver knife
cuts of jokes,
beaded sweat ran thin
as you ask what is so
wrong with me, that
i take such offense
at your advances
iii.
it does not take
but a few ill-placed
jokes aside to
readily decide
what it is you do
and do not know
iv.
this and that
is all i need!
v.
split and sliced my lips,
sharp teeth drawing
blood, and i
am not tired enough
to care
vi.
tree bark eyes
blink back at me
from crooked birchwood tree
vii.
i’m sorry that this hurts
you &
viii.
sap-burned gaze
tracks me from here to there
with heavy birchwood stare
ix.
(it hurts less and less, the more and more)
(that you leave)
x.
red filtered eyes,
everything shades
of blood—heavy
with my discontent,
heavy with my
drooping ways
xi.
i’m sorry
(i’m so sorry)