b is for blank expression
all along I've done
wrong by you
supposing that
the expose
of second hand
lingerie were
optical – artificial
chemical oxymoron's
oxidize the edifice
of our exasperating
idealism.

i'm starved for you,
deep in those humid
nights when I clung
to the screen doors like
a bug poking my fingers
out into the stifling
night, counting the riddles
of the universe and
closing my eyes only
to drift into an oblivion

where
she
is saying
your
name

and the sound is so sulfuric
and natural that it mingles
with morning bird sounds
and traffic jams with
the most intimate of
perfect harmonies,

and I did wrong in
worshipping you

in sipping at the dawn
with heavy eyes, and
angry sighs and the same
barren expressionisms
of the same sought after
dream I continually spit
my words at.