the house

when i miss you at night, between the ticks and tocks
i pretend i'm a house.

i feel my floor, made of wood and salt
i nudge my nooks and my corners into place
but i stay away from my ceiling,
i'm afraid of heights you see.

i worry over the furniture you've brought in, it's too heavy and your bed presses down especially hard.
my floor groans under the weight but i'll manage,
more worrying is the cat you've brought in.

i can't stand those things and look, your cat's stirred up my allergies.
my wallpaper's turned out spots and bumps
but i won't complain.  i'd much rather you stay with your blasted cat then run away again.

i like myself as a house and wish you would stay.
but the cat's scratched my wallpaper and i'm bleeding out onto my floor, made of wood and salt. 

the rib that adam ate

the smell of coffee lingers here
milk curdling in my throat
i swallow your mouth and pray your teeth won't bite on the way home
it really is too bad my dear, my indecision got the best of me
the door was there and i was leaving
but you talked as if you had all day, and i didn't have all day
i can only allow so much you know
so i plucked your head and coaxed it whole

i'm afraid your ears have gone down my trachea,
and your lips sit warm against my ribs