Please Oh Please

These are my thoughts. Be honest.

If we get to exist together in a different

plane, do you find that sad, like I do? Here

I am growing older and more tolerant. But

sometimes I wish a whisper would come

into my ear and say, I adore you, and that

is what you think you want out of today. Is

this all going in OK?

I’m still probably going to decline, though

I’m shocked and almost flattered when

paragraphs touch. Is that how you were

made? Some day we might be able

to turn each other into a sentence. I know

your ugly, too.

Breathe (but not push!) they said — you’re

beloved here. I took you with me

to Wegman’s today (despite you being

at the end of the Earth) and we gorged

until coma. At least your absence is alive,

through a miracle drug. Why does it feel

I’m the only one on it?

This is the thing I hate about being

a fearful girl: even as little half babies

split at my hip, I believe in meeting you

in some other plane. It comes from

the guts. I think I’m not supposed to bring

bread there or the admission that your life

is dominated by the worship of another. But

we take someone beautiful, testing their capacity.

Capacity is an interesting word. Spanish has

a word, which if I could translate, would be

something like I cannot believe you

exist. Though I hate when language is abused

like that, we haven’t mentioned it since

the waiting room. So — what is just outside the universe?

Come sip it with me, please oh please.

Jaw to jaw, and cheek to cheek.