Be good or be Gone

the other tragedy- I'm yours but hopelessly romanticize every situation.
at the grocery store i look into other peoples baskets and when i catch someone looking into mine i wonder if we all don't fall in love a little.
just between produce and dairy. the smell of candy, of fresh baked bread.
At check-out our carts lightly touch. her bug bitten legs. my chipped finger nail polish left on since Halloween. its my job to notice. its my story to tell. we browse the magazines while waiting our turn: new chewing gum, new fade diets, flu-scares, celebrity faces, horoscopes.
she pays. i pay. we go about our separate ways. our separate lives.
a quick glance, a slight smile enough to know it isn't just me.


it was who she was in the dark, cigarettes and mumbled sleep and a hundred other things nameable and not.

the devils in me. sadness. no reason- maybe the radio.
cellos. calamity.
maybe I'm not sad.
this could be calm.
this could be what soothing feels like.
this could be me without noise. i listen to my inside voice. no echo.
the vibrations are a hum.

the trouble with everything is how suddenly it could turn to nothing. every candy a toothache in a fancy wrapper.

a book filled with poetry and fuck stories. my lies. our lies. our nothing.
the devil is loose in my heart and she likes it rough. like it was in your room the night you let me stay. A sunny skied morning turned a starry night.
whatever she says. whatever god says.
whatever the darkness tells me to do.
after dreaming i write to her. i want to click send and open old wounds.
she fucked the words out of me.
bleed.
I'm sorry.
the vibrations are a hum. good bye again.
This is us. this is how we follow through.

tell me how I say the things that make you sway

at the grocery store. we place food items into a plastic push cart. she steers the buggy, I look at the floor. to many people, to many lights, to much advertising. the smell of baked goods, spiced meats, and loaves of french crusted bread. a lady asks if we'd like to try a free sample. My fingers brush against the brightly colored fruit as we walk by.

I'm an impulse shopper and kisser and hands on her ass, feel her up-er. she'll tell you that, just ask her.

there was my attempt on aisle 7 to explain how a certain wine compliments a certain
dish, that i would make it for us. I would teach her how to sniff, taste and swallow.
I could tell she thought this to be sweet, silly, slightly dirty.
heart breaking. she said.
you're simply heart breaking.

i was pointing at bottle neck clams through the seafood window glass.
when you pick out clams. I say. you want to make sure the shells are closed, never buy open clams.... and now shellfish, okay. listen baby, this is important. ANY shellfish: shrimp, crabs, scallops, you want to make sure the guy gives you them frozen from the freezer in back. they are better frozen and thawed at home.
and what about those, she says. pointing to a group of lobsters crawling at the bottom of salt water tank.
We don't buy those. I say. We consider the lobster.

I'm checking the fresh caught fish of the day and i see her face reflecting in the glass, smiling. i notice she's staring at me when she thinks im not looking back. I can't keep my own gaze from off her, or my hands, or my heart. I fall for those moments, even with almost certain lies hanging from her lips. I turn and kiss and taste them right there in front of everyone. a light applause from a few of the older ladies, who happen by. As if id made some grand proposal and she said yes. It was only that she had captured me. trapped now like the lobsters crawling up the sides of the tank. tap-tap-tap-tap