metrophobia,

everything flickers like a
power outtage and we lie
still like daisies on
ecstacy

you've got the metrophobia the
way you can't understand
the words i whisper when we're
alone and the bed sheets constitute
clouds

i drink metaphors like cocktails and
speak in run-on sentences but
now you're asking me to say something
simple

(simple like the day you said you
were in love, how silly)

no, no

i want to tell you that your eyes are
oceans and aircraft fly over them and
yet you don't feel the movement

want to tell you about aquamarine and
cerulean

(night sky and kool-aid)

don't want to give into your fear
of poetry, rather'd hate you for being
straight with me

hate myself for involving you

lightening storm won't hold out
just 'cause i can't make up my mind
concerning apostrophes and italics
or the things i've always written
never expected

my metrophobe, how could you
fall for a poet?