blond hair dyed that way to match your personality.
My dogs are eating hitch hikers off of each other.
I'm amused by how satisfying that can be.
They stick and hide in their curly strings of fur.
Hanger on'ers are stalking me.
I can't shed them from my skin.
Maybe the dogs can chew them off
before they crawl into my pores
and find their way into my mouth
where things hide
then roll around on my tongue
at the most inopportune times.
There's dust on the top of my fans.
Every one of them.
I'm embarrassed by that.
I can't reach that high although my arms are gorilla long. Maybe I'm lazy for not even trying.
Maybe I just don't care.
I know I love him but where do I go from here.
Is this my life?
Loving him and that being enough.
I don't know.
He left me once.
As soon as he was out the door
I grabbed all the photos with him in them
and threw them in the bottom of my over stuffed closet.
He didn't get very far before he turned around
and came scurrying home
at the exact time I was scurrying to bring him home.
Now he calls me baby
and says he loves my face
and that I'm beautiful
so many times a day
that I'm starting to believe him.
We want to please each other
like two teenagers
offering each other the first fresh hit off a joint.
I want him to have it.
Although now if by accident he takes a hit
he shuts down like a power outage
and hides like a criminal.
That makes me laugh and feel calm
like a hit of opium.
He's cooking me hors d'oeuvres
along with his sous chief
and I'm watching and writing and smiling.
My itch is gone.