Sunday morning

I remember one particular Sunday morning where,
pre-empting the inevitable loss which would occur:
I attempted to make a cage inside my head
Which would trap us indefinitely in your bed

You are gone but the cage is there
Nestled beneath my birdsnest hair
And I'm endlessly lost inside my head
Alone, on Sunday, in your old bed.

Love Poem

I want to suck your left knee,Cut little holes in my stomach put your fingers in there kiss your eyes. I want to know what it's like to lick your teeth with your tongue,I want to paint you blue shave off all your body hair and ask you about your relationship with your fatherI think I would be happier if you would spit all of my food into my mouth.


Will you go out with me?