for cassandra, who breaks my heart daily in the best ways.
you wantmy tongue to make sweeping statementsover your definite articles, even thoughyou are not ready for the contractionspromised in our portmanteau
i wantyour vocals vibrating verbatimto mimicmy intentional inflectionstaking down your constituents with my iambic interjections
you want me more as i occupy lessand less of the shifting atmosphereoften magenta in hue but lately a rotten, mottled pumpkinwhenever i am around you
i watched you look at melike how i used to at you but it wasn't a catch, you weren't caughtbecause it doesn't raise alarm; you have been waiting for thisfor me to finally 'love myself'for my body to condense to the shapeof whatever you think a woman is
and for the longest time i waited toofor you to come around for me to be less roundfor my body to deservethe confidence i boasted having...