We sit knocking knees, looking
at one another’s lips, thinking,
“Who would I kiss? Pat on the back
over and over, just to touch?”
I don’t want to bolster you much,
just want to slide my lips sideways
across yours and clasp little fingers
together, want to touch your shoulder,
want a few grams of your warmth for
some self-esteem, to chew on meaning
and fat and multi-task my way to nirvana.
Dull fireworks, fizzling and falling,
passerby love and casual affection
mediocrity making my mouth water.
I hate you so—I want to touch the contour of your face,
look into those blue eyes and long lashes and hate you.
I want to disappear into the warmth and mass of your arms, hating you.
I want to curse your name and sing your name a thousand times,
hit those two syllables like I want to hit your jaw, cut my knuckles
on the smile you ever dared to use on me.
I want to bury you in the earth for hurting me, I want to dig you up,
breathe air into your lungs, bring a knife down on your chest,
over and over, replicating the wounds you left me.
I am 1000 miles away and right next you, dead and very alive.
Is it possible to talk with you, now, constantly, and never again?
Can I exist between both of these parallel universes, experience both?
Look at me—never think of me again. Talk to me, let’s never speak again.