kaitforest
she is counteractive with that damn thing,
making sure the bile goes straight up my nose,
thinking it's going to make me look at it and
go, "fuck, this is interesting shit
now that i can see it better."
she is in
a button down blue suit
wishing to be paid more properly
i know
but her hands still swipe the dangled hair,
with less lackluster grace
than a better paid jockey,
that falls into the frame of her
glasses;
she asks me
one more time:
"what do you want to eat, sir?"
heart is a muster of clogged words that form in my chest,
hang on my teeth and
spill out my mouth.
if only this cancer that
inhabits me would leave
for a day
i'd be able to
move closer
to you.