One More for the Revenge Pile

When I said you had eyes as dark as suicide-

icicles, I think you misunderstood me. Imagine
waking up to a couple of razor-blades

being jammed into electrical outlets. Picture
a mouth like a dried up swamp from the

Paleolithic period, ripe and toothless

after the hurricane. When i said
you were a discovery, I didn’t mean a catch;

I meant the curious pool of bacteria

you collect in your mother’s bathroom has something

scientists might one day be interested in. When I said
you smell unique in certain places, it wasn’t ‘impossible

saffron‘ or ‘incredible lavender‘; it was the hand-soap

that I wished you used more of, and that covered up

something far, far worse. When I said
you were incredible, I actually said

inedible. When I said you
made me goofy, I didn’t mean

silly-goofy, I meant you kissed

me all backwards, so all I felt was

smoke and ash. I meant dyslexic.

That kind of goofy. When I say dyslexic,
I mean when we had sex for eight hours and

slept for four, I wished it were the other way around.

I meant that every kiss was a chance to spit in your

mouth, a chance I miss. I mean missed.

I mean, let’s stop this. When you once read

a self-help book that told you
to swallow something you could not love,

I swallowed everything. When you

tried to hold my hand I pretended I had to

touch the left side of my face. When you told me

the book said to keep something terrible inside

of you, collect the ashes of anyone who stares

too long, I left. It was the only time I listened to

anything you said while we made love.

When I said dyslexic, I mean I must’ve read you wrong.

I mean, the telephone lines must’ve been down.

You never called. I mean

You didn’t come back.