Alphabet Soup Minuscule

The Laundry Maid

In The Times Passing

In the times passing,
I am the slender hand on the clock.
Moving slowly, I smile soft,
Closed mouth smiles.
The portions of my mouth folding together just enough to feel.

In the times passing,
I close my eyes and walk,
Feeling only the sun on my back,
An itchy sweater on my chest and,
The cold sting of winter slapping my face.

I tilt my head back and up at the flannel gray sky,
Softly touching my throat,
Just enough that it tickles.

There is a different kind of order in the times passing,
One that was displaced for a while.
Now, a new sense of responsibilities,
And a need to propagate me.

Dishwater Eyes

For a moment I thought it was him.
Tapping lightly upon my shoulder and,
Telling me stories in his husky voice.
Looking deeply at me with those dishwater eyes.

For a moment I thought I was mad,
Raging and sick and thirsting for something,
That I held cold for a moment.
Like an ice cube, squared.
But it melted thick, in this hand.

I wonder what it was I even felt before?
For it couldn’t have been more than I wanted,
Because it was much less than I desired.

He bought me a diamond that I will never wear.
But you know I am that girl more interested in the box and,
The sound of your sleepy laugh.
The way your breath hits me, when your 5 a.m. lips meet mine.

You know, that I am more turned on by the way your hard fingers,
Mend the chair he broke and,
Not the way your cologne smells,
But the way it lingers on this shirt after you have left.

While I am anticipating your return.
I smile at your lack of pitch when you sing my favorite song.
I am aware of your openness of the possibilities of me, of us.
And that throws me off like a leaf on a tree in December.

You memorize every freckle,
Every detail about me, and still accept every piece.

Even White Is hidden


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I awaken to the trains 3 a.m. moans in the distance.
Somehow, I find her nightly release soothing.
I roll over and stretch out my legs that,
Are no longer tan and instead, are the soft color of milk.
But in this dark, and beneath these covers, even white is hidden.

I watch as the headlights beam off my walls.
I hear the engine whisper sweet somethings,
As it drives somebody away.
Away from me in this bed,
Away from these dreams I dream and these songs in my head.

Just like the train,
Just like you.

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