bao (or: treasure)

i sweeten my coffee and stare at the orange skyline,
read shiny magazines and judge myself,
pretend to be above the acidic paint on the stairwells and
appreciate.

remember, we married our fortunes together. and i
want to tell you everything. plan elusive and reduce
my confused state of rejection, i'll take my affection on the
high road and leave you alone.

i've been gambling with clocks, stealing stranger's socks,
i've evolved but i haven't changed and so wasn't i right from the beginning?
it breaks my heart a bit and i'll admit it to you -
you're the only person who could understand
when i reference that aged conversation and propose that sand
beat the rush by shrinking til the waves could do it no harm.

(tell me it's not true if it's not true, but don't lie to save me.)

but oh, but oh, where have you gone?

squashy purple sleeping bags

i feel now like he can't hide anymore,
can't pretend to not be even slightly impressed by me,
slightly awed,
slightly turned on because there is only so much
that you can conceal behind an accent and a robe and
a cynical air and i stopped trying to care
and now the words come effortlessly and we've moved past touch
(something i've been craving just a tad bit too much)
with my feet on his chest and his hands on my breasts and a rhythmic coughing
and clearwater and dawn.