syrup spit in my ear
teaching me how to slide
and
she the hip hop record
out the san francisco's
out of the san francisco
hurdled dirty
exchange rates
mastering the filthy turn
broken horn memories
adjacent his new coats
he had and hadn't given
away
how he wound down towns
spendings is spring
weathers are drying deserts
behind her eyes
so depressing sad
how about some ice cubing
and she would run home
alone
just couldn't get around
to their name
I want someone to snuggle under a blanket with,
to watch TV,
or for fingers to run softly through my hair
while I read, my head in their lap.
I want someone to kiss me goodnight.
And good morning.
Go to work. Pay the bills.
Buy me a gift—just because.
But phones ring, and doors knock,
and emails chime.
Kids scream, and I scream,
Ice cream,
Trucks rumble down the street.
In our marriage, our family, our life,
the closer the walls,
the closer the chaos.
Closed minds, closed doors.
No trips to Bermuda.
No money.
No second honeymoon.
No plan for college, retirement,
or anything in between.
No savings. Just spendings.
Lending but no tithing.
Smaller spaces,
disordered chaos.
Smaller spaces in my head.
Entropy overtakes me.