Purple eyeliner.
The yellow-breasted bird who sings the morning.
Waiting to heat the toast over the flame.
Letting the hunger sink in, slowly to let it lick each rib bone.
Waiting for your hands on my skin.
Sand between my toes and in the bed sheets.
Crunchy.
Crinkly.
Crumbly.
Waking up wet.
Waking up alone.
Waking up in that blue tie-dye dress-
I’m so sick of-
and looking at talk negligees
(( not buying silk negligees ))
wandering the hillside with a purse full of crayons
drawing on cement to write my name as it is, today.
Not knowing where I will be tomorrow.
Not knowing who I will be tomorrow.
Choosing the blue eyeliner instead of the purple and
doing the top lid instead of the bottom.
Wishing for the weight of you on top of me
The scent of charred wood
my ankles hooked east and west
a back arched like the shell you held up to your ear
listen,
I love you.

Photo source.