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I want fresh pineapples everyday, and bananas
with 2% milk and honey-roasted peanut butter,
which isn't a lot to ask for in comparison to pedicures
or the high-end expectations of the last blonde-locked
ambition that you coiled around your arm.
Pears and carrots, green-leaf lettuce, tomatoes
with a bag of yellow lemons. A window to the city.
A ticket out of foster homes and ramen noodles
and halfway houses where bitches beat you down
and break your ankle for a used laptop and hairbrush.
I'll grow out of this cast and into my wings, fold you
into my body, and when I find my voice I'll sing
like a little jeweled bird in her Emperor's cage.
You'll age, and I'll pretend I never notice. We'll be
what poets call Spring and Winter, and live Happily.
| I have to wonder if you are not selling yourself short in the first stanza? Don't you deserve the pedicures and other perks the blonde|
|| Posted on 2013-03-17 00:00:00 | by DaleP | [ Reply to This ] || this is absolutely beautiful. real or imagined. there's a rhythm in it that can carry a very nice voice as well. sounds like longing. for change and for a man. hope it works out, or at least it works out enough to move on and find something like what you're looking for. and sounds like a realistic way to want.||| Posted on 2012-12-18 00:00:00 | by Arjay | [ Reply to This ] |