A Poem In Which There Are No Metaphors-Only You

I keep writing poems about girls who don't know I'm writing poems about them&these skeletal concrete words are so hopelessly devoid of metaphors-that's how much I want you- enough to say it plainly, in the lines instead of between them. I&all the unattainable golden muses are waiting for a train together&because I said no metaphors (and I mean it this time) I will tell you the train is my body&although I am always late, I am so hungry for hands that I feel cannibalistic. feed me some empathy, maybe I'll be good to you, or good enough for you to stay. Come listen to King Princess on my roof with me-nobody will see us but we'll be right there--head in the clouds (I am so desperate for love it does not hurt to admit it (anymore)). maybe we'll shatter the goddamn mirror, let's break some expectations(I could not think of a better first date) these days are not the ones I want to be remembered by -and maybe that's the glue in all of my joints (or maybe it's you, the girl who doesn't know who she is) these days are not elegant, they will never be pretty(looking glass smile) you tell me it's okay to barely want to exist (if existing is just continuing to move) & I fall in love with your cruel lies. we both keep waiting for the train. it never arrives.