Can’t All Be Beautiful

My lips met with tender kiss, flight risk as they come. Antithesis of old gum on bedposts, she don’t stick to a soundboard of hardening around one religion.

I fell asleep on the left, but woke without centre. Like sheets on my bed, three-hundred count thread softens me, only some unwrap before sunrise for wee hour goodbyes I was too drunk to register.

She asked if I owned, when in fact I’m just a renter, tenant of tenacity for eight hundred a month. And how did I ever see the sun come up if all my windows faced the world’s backside, with a draft that indicts young afternoon reprieve? She saw drugs on the coffee table next to Anne of Green Gables I cut out as filter. And asked if I’d build her up to be my high, a sleep aid for repressed short sight.

Never you mind, because never would I confuse naked with the nihilism my skin hides. Don’t let my sweater of sin surrender your sheep’s outfit, because I’m a wolf in waiting.

Never did I lie about the liability- a predator enjoys killing as much as the meal. Neither was it implied I wouldn’t covet to keep you where less desirable dogs could feed from you, but to steal away as

moonlight was a fresh
memory makes
an enemy of

But we can’t all be beautiful, won’t all be fulfilled. Won’t all grace front covers of our single-serving lovers’s ambition. Some of us just let the dishes pile up more than others, letting bills go unpaid and don’t call our mothers everyday.

She seemed none of the above, but was
all I could afford on dollars a day.


5 thoughts on “Can’t All Be Beautiful

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