03-07 So I Think I'm In Love

the curiosity,
began the night,
with a poem about his mustache,
while his eyes glittered,
I think I'm in love,
so I sing,
so I read a poem,
while the boom box,
plays a lost melody on
the boy's fingers,
his brother screaming,
about survival,
chain-gang mouth stretching,
I cannot know, from
where my princess folded knees sit,
but I can take
the photograph in sepia,
of a Portland couple,
who never were from,
here but now are there,
the dust of highway 82,
lingering in the shrooms of
their eyes, jean faded,
I think I'm in love,
so I leave,
the curiosity behind,
to be curious reminding him,
I drank red cinnamon tea,
to hear him speak,
(pause)
I arrive,
the party at the garden,
blossoms, bees make honey,
with lime, presents,
from his cedar chest reveal,
their wriggling horror,
on the table,
they are his children,
the collector of,
chrysalis, twisted,
and strange, claim,
a place, in his heart,
at an altar to Dolly Parton,
who is this, Mister Bumblebee,
I wonder, but tonight,
there are others,
to steal his sunshine and celebrate,
two, drinking, as one,
yellow stripes on the wall,
should be black and white,
snap, polaroid, done, I
hover, ask questions,
the vibe, is okay, when
she kisses me, full of
rain, beer, and possibility,
but I am not in love,
so I ignore, the button pusher,
snow maker, lover and instead,
make conversations with bottoms,
reminding my future husband,
my superman, (sigh)
I think I am in love,
so I drink,
the limes out
of the choir crushed boy, while the Flash,
weeps for his cat, the Doctor
craves the rush of the ER,
the climatologist buys broccoli,
and lent creeps up to the door,
to peek in and say hello,
I'm still here, chastity strap
in hand, tickling me,
but I am in love,
so I leave,
before I say something,
I'd regret, in a poem,
the day after, something,
he might be reading now,
and wonder, is that me?