Dear Kira,
I love you like a fish.
I could just blow up.

Why don't you
smell my hair? If
you have chlorophorm in
your pocket, will you
share it with me? That's
what friends do.

I don't have to ask questions;
that's just a nugget.
but don't frown on
your pancakes: they aren't
very fond of Italian men.

But I am rather fond of you
and the trundlebed I tried to steal. I'm
jealous of the snow in your mouth
and all eight of your
seven faults.

Sometimes
Your slippery scales roar at me
and the sound is beautiful. I love you
like a touch and the porpoise noises
of your indelible shelf life. I love you
like warm bread, like
buttersmell. That you can't hold
a candle without laughing, or
giving yourself a new name.

I love you like a fish, all
awkward flopping and
smooth swimming and
poufy lips and
green-red hair.

But, most of all,
I love your voice:
the sound of soft, white
tortillas.

12.13.12