another striking sky—
so many blues at once
above reach & right here
in the kitchen.
you left a can
of sugar-free red bull
in my fridge last night.
you’re quite cheeky you know.
it’s not as if you’d like me
to crack you open
eventually.
if you’d really wanted to
tease me in a sexy way
you would’ve
put a moth in my bedroom.
i flick fingers at those
selfish angels like i know
they’ll be back for more
but in the dark
in the dark i’m never quite sure if
i’ve killed them or just made them
hornier for the light.
isn’t it ridiculous how compulsive
a connection must be
to bring a sky right
down—& there’s nothing for it here.
i’m not pretty
at the dinner party or
after it & i’m always
preparing to take
my dress off
or at least that’s what
i’m telling myself
as i wake enamoured
by the pounding fear of change.
forget
whatever subtlety
swigs the next morning
how do you actually come to terms
with anything
your prettiness for example.
eden just says another
striking sky & pours me a cup of weak
bladder.
cumulus cloud.
lacrimal gland.
we sit & we sip
& we wonder how
the chairs got so
wet.
Featured image from Daisies [Sedmikrásky], directed by Věra Chytilová, 1966.
