[WhatILivefoR]

I Need a Title and Hopefully I Will Think of One Soon

I kept the ring that you made me
next to the pillow and under a glass
the flowers have died but there’s a scent of flesh
that still lingers in the air inside.
and it’s another token of another day
of sand and feet and pencil bouquets
a letter and a ring of the virgin white
but I wonder where the flowers go when they die.
Like a headache that crawls into my head through my eyes
I sense there is something that has gone terribly right.
if it’s me that let you down, please be polite
and lead me downstairs by a silver thread tonight
and keep me in the kitchen while you go to bed.
I won’t last long with the cupboards and drawers
(I have never been chained up like this before.
I feel like a zero to sixty pulse that’s
intense for a moment, but spent in an instant.
the pressure against the backing will ease
as soon as you become used to me.)
and the silverware will cease to entertain.
In a great release of devouring depth
it will bring me again to my knees and my brain.
The tile is cold but the chair let me go
and how could I stop it if there’s a lesson to learn?
And there's something to earn to satisfy your lock;
where the key is in me but I can’t seem to find it-
And I don’t know where to look.
I’m not sure why it came as a shock; I feel the same as I did with the book
of poems when you told me you kept my smile in a box with petals.
But that ring that you gave me when you said that you loved me
promised the morning that you promised to love me.
Was it true that you loved me?
And I wonder now if it was me that you saw,
or if maybe I was different then.