PANK SOON
We all try to climb the walls. I would propose to you on the roof. I would make you a ring of poems. I already tried this. I keep my poems a secret. I fill the window of the storefront with drafts of my poems. I wrap you in a sentence I keep rewriting. I think you’re sexiest in the shower. I am lying. Come here and trust me like you used to. I think you’re sexiest when you’re wearing a small pair of underwear in the morning and your hair is just a bit wrong. I try not to think my way into the walls. I try not to climb but you see the hydraulic lifts can hold 6500 pounds. I try to weigh the anchors I drag with you. I try not to ignore the echoes in the warehouse. The walls are cold and made of dough. The walls are falling down and I’m sinking into them, you know what I mean. If this poem was really a great poem you’d say something like I AM GOING TO FUCK YOU LIKE THE NEIGHBORS FIGHT. If this poem was an erotic novel your hair would be deep red, your blood would be deep red also, your blood would be rose petals, you vampire, you sexy fucking vampire.
