I have traveled enough to know
that I like finely drawn legs and
sincere smiles, my own, and yours.
I am deserted now. My body tastes
like ice cream, my heart is swollen
with sodium and I have no glamourous
pictures to offer you for your wallet.
I think that if I wrapped my arms gently
enough around anything, it might come
home with me, lay in my bed, talk to me
about toe nails or times tables.
Could I put my legs, that aren't as well
drawn as they use to be, around your waist,
and rock myself in your arms, after we'd made
it there?
I am sorry. I will say it thousands of times. I will
see you walk by me again and again, noticing
little, carrying on. But I will still love you. In
every moment, each day of my life.
