clock hands force a smile from you at 10:10 and 2:50
you time your teeth to splinter upon contact
with sunlight because you are allergic to shellfish
and pearls are not in this season
I spit watermelon seeds into your eyes
for the sake of dilating the disorientation in empty pupils
I only see between 9 and 5
our home is a job site
and you are building staircases just to escape me
attaching rope to the doorframes in hopes
your elevator dreams gain some lift
because even the Tempurpedic mattress I bought
can’t support you
you say I love like pyramids
that there is a point where I stop loving you
a climactic apex of screaming myself awake
at 2:50 because all I want first thing in the morning
is to see you smiling in your sleep
is it so wrong of me to wish that our closets
were not walk-ins
but a single walk-out like an aisle
between burning pews and our foreheads
were crossed with ashes of forgiveness spanning
miles of tangled film-reel displaying
petty theft and weeping showerheads
you stole my heart from my breast pocket
it had fallen out of my chest
when two drumstick ribs tattered the canvas
of my drumhead flesh
that night you nailed my hands to the dashboard
crucified my virginity somewhere between the steering wheel
and the gas pedal and we only stopped
when the bumper crashed into the edge of heaven
the taillights glimmered like supernovae and I hung myself
as a moon within your orbit
so that I would never be too far away from you
because every moment we are apart
is an industrial revolution
and railroad tracks won’t be laid down for another century
