An angel
in a bridesmaid dress
gliding past bodies
clones and the rest
through butterscotch smoke
to lift up my soul
and gift her lips in sin

swapping secrets under strobes
in our barstool island glow
bodies swelling at the shore
turned in waves of stereo
breathless velvet
master craft
tied her tongue
to mine
and laughed

you know it needed something
but you don't realize it
until months later...

if it had
had a dog and a child

it would be perfect...

"I picked up Bella
our Maltese
and took little Johnny
by his tiny hand

as the ambulance drove off."

she likes sausage for breakfast
but we don't cook the eggs
then it's on to the next one as she's checking her texts
she's vegetarian and always late
from a generation that just couldn't wait
to not be sober and now they're older;
a body count that could outrank soldiers
storming the frontlines, nobody told her
be still for a minute and let someone hold her
so it's on to the exodus, on to the next one
never sticking around like Teflon
if you've a big one, you might share a shower
but best believe she'll be dust in an hour

Attraction is a small and fragile thing.
We started with stolen glances,
in crowded halls, across a coffee shop.
I was glancing (I hoped he was glancing).

It was hard, we lived in a rushed way.
We were on schedules, we had routines.
I had doubts about having a boyfriend
but they fell away, like leaves fall off trees.

I’d been warned, "don’t saddle trouble."

But finally, feeling that we were
deserving of love’s rich value,
we came together,
as marble-hearted sinners
with the serpent's contempt
for God’s stable order.