in this light my hands are yell ow
fingernails my connection
you are my latest religion and i'm
praying on your eyes this is a war
you make me sick and i declare war
prying tearing
ripping
not just dripping tearing

she threw away my flowers this morning
their orange and holocaust red become brown and their
spots overtaken petals in a crushed heap of
crushing fragrance of lilies in the dining room
she left me a trail of brownest pollen
(do you mean) dilated and sore
a third shower might be ample but i feel the yellow
pushing through
and i smell of you

leaving my hair in your drain was not i fear enough i fear
i left my self there too
my head attached
to you and i still smell of you
and your soap and taste of
knees ache and my
thighs are sore
these (that? do you mean that i am beautiful?) :
these are the spoils of this war