Hanging up the words on a clothesline

to dry up the sadness. The tears wet

my bra and panties and now look

at me. Wrong kind of wet. Right

kind of wrong. Such a deep

mess on the outline of the sea.

Wrapped around the belts

around my waist, in your hands

around my thoughts in the

wandering streets. Love wakes

me up with kisses on my cheeks,

it startles me out of my reverie

while I pump gas. Left the locket

on my dresser, left my mind

on your doorstep. Walk with me

the day is long, the nights are

windy, the pain excruciating.

Make the scene sexy with

all the words left out,

all the fantasies played out. It

is only a dream within a dream

the theater of the absurd

and we are sitting in the last row

playing footsies underneath

the imaginary mistletoe. Grab

your coat, your pen, your

drink that is not for

the faint of heart. I can

down a bottle of Jack honey

so trust me, believe in me,

as the news travels fast

among the wanted. The point

is that there really is none.

My coffee is cold, and

still I drink it. My needs

are vast and still I chance it.

Love switches on and off

from hate to love from love

to hate from me to you

and from you to me.

Must dry the words

and let them settle.