.4

.4
in parts...my past...and so it goes



there are more ways to skin a cat:



flip the beast on its belly and scrap

like that of my insides.



the night before,

you revealed girlfriends were never on your agenda

call me your soulmate.

i began to taste hot ice when the word "boyfriend" rolled of my tongue.



who has a taste for commitment when one could swim

around opportunity and never suffer pruned skin...?



i'd like to call myself your lover,

but that is merely a word that one uses to sound civilized.

honesty says, we just fucked.

fed you a plate, before your cab ride arrived

my pussy always left my mate famished - so call this a farewell gift

and leave us just like this:

pleasant.



so when we meet in a brooklyn bar years from now,

no one will notice our smile.



the way you hold my hand, like a secret



a canary,



a skinless cat;



it is then i will think of you.

after men scramble for my pieces

how you left them unopened,



plastic intact, still stacked in corners

misplaced by my own hands.



you gracious admirer,

how you refused to tear at something so



see through.