for monique

straight up: i’ve been desiring recently, lately that

emotional ‘feelings’ feeling emanating from down

deep, as described in other poems.

is there something

inauthentic about me? be honest… imagine say, i choose

to kiss her first on a slippery-dip & keep it / for

myself? to not be made lesser by language (which

at least is not the patently opaque / stupid

medium of paint)?

forgive

me for texting that sentiment of the last stanza i

often forget the point, the focus, the necessary direction

of things even rambling things. desire was at issue, or that

faux kind of pleasure that people will respond to with

‘oh yeses’.

two argumentative wrongs do make a

right

i proved this to my little sister once just to fuck with her

mind but the argument, insult, was sound. i

wonder what i said. the reminiscence is so

poignant don’t you think, monique?

like

in all those other poems, the things

you can read in books?

.

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