i planned my dates with a dead man
his corpse lying beneath me
the hacked off hair bestrewn
on the ceremonial cloths of his life
and i fell in love with a dead man
for the 40th year of my life
and i looked like it was my first year
of ever having a crush
the same morose look
a glassy eyed façade-towards the world
rose-tinted perhaps
but like a ticking time-bomb
i could never know when it would come off
and i dream of the boy
who writes down each date he cries on
with his cropped off hair like an egg
sleeping on the floor with the alligators
he eats his noodles with a spoon
and soup is a dislike
he settles his home in the bathroom
after his 8th glass
sugar cubes for the horse
and the fawns alike
they mutter to each other in the stables
before the dawns light
i dream of being in his arms
the boy with his heavy back
shoulders of a bull
chin of a moon
square feet and palms
sitting in the sand
our feet over drift wood
getting lost on his 4th glass
staring at the gravel of the train tracks as if they were the stars
