Why your new little girlfriend doesn't scare me
in love, all parallels,
paradoxes, the little kidney-shaped
boxes of nowhere and nevermore,
and she (the I) am still riding
shotgun in a dirty pickup truck
and he (the 'him') is telling me to put my purse down,

you see,
he is laying on the bed with satin sheets
that he bought because I liked them, and
his step brother said made him feel naughty,
and your head is in my lap and you are
pulling me down into a backwards kiss
with our teeth gnashing together like
drawbridges, we are a solid oceanic storm,
elemental, fastidious,

in love, and your little
ex-current girlfriend with her
gangster slang facebook profile pictures
has got nothing on me, or the dirty
little secrets I keep on you,

on you,

you see, I am
in love, just in anger
with you, in agony
with you, throwing up
a little in my mouth
with you, picking out
hotel rooms with you,
in love with you,

not in want
with you although
we are kissing deeply
at midnight and your
average size 'size'

is not even worth
mentioning in the poem,

you see,
the poem is not
in love with you,

the poem
hates you, the
poem will curve like the
shape of a cheekbone
down the skull
of the page and
the poem will plunge
words down your sticky
throat and you will chock on them,

the poem
will murder you, and your dumbass little girlfriend too.