paperleaves
09-10-2008, 12:49 AM
he sat eagerly hunched over the keyboard, clicking away
at free prizes and the taskbar
surfing the psychology forums for ways to get by
he is tired of getting high in the kitchen and watching me wash the dishes
as he paints his masterpieces and smokes his cigars
I pop open the wine, and
bathe
and drink.
I watch the auditions for the new
reality singing contest
belting out the classics as the bubbles pop
and my toes warm.
he appears in the doorway, milk jug in hand,
waving his glances like threats to the television
I think it is too loud.
an artist needs his peace.
So I sit naked on the dryer and listen
to my clothes spin endlessly
in intense heat
pressing altogetherlikeawhirlpoolofcotton
polyester, rayon, and nylon.
He walks in the laundry room, inkpen in hand,
waving his glances like threats to the washerdryer set
I think it is too loud.
a writer needs his peace.
So I retire to bed and fall into the throes of slumber
in intense heat
pressing altogetherlikeawhirpoolofnightmares
black, red, bleach.
And he finally wraps his arms around me, and kisses my forehead
and no one complains about the noises we make
because they are too busy to care
and after all,
a lover needs his peace.
at free prizes and the taskbar
surfing the psychology forums for ways to get by
he is tired of getting high in the kitchen and watching me wash the dishes
as he paints his masterpieces and smokes his cigars
I pop open the wine, and
bathe
and drink.
I watch the auditions for the new
reality singing contest
belting out the classics as the bubbles pop
and my toes warm.
he appears in the doorway, milk jug in hand,
waving his glances like threats to the television
I think it is too loud.
an artist needs his peace.
So I sit naked on the dryer and listen
to my clothes spin endlessly
in intense heat
pressing altogetherlikeawhirlpoolofcotton
polyester, rayon, and nylon.
He walks in the laundry room, inkpen in hand,
waving his glances like threats to the washerdryer set
I think it is too loud.
a writer needs his peace.
So I retire to bed and fall into the throes of slumber
in intense heat
pressing altogetherlikeawhirpoolofnightmares
black, red, bleach.
And he finally wraps his arms around me, and kisses my forehead
and no one complains about the noises we make
because they are too busy to care
and after all,
a lover needs his peace.