Cactus
I wait for a sign that you need me:
a wilting arm, dry soil,
but you give me nothing
so I trickle water into your mouth.
Just enough to tame my own thirst.
---
What bothers me most is the way you reach for the sun
though she never reaches back.
She could burn you a million times, and still,
you’d wear your crispy hickeys with pride.
Foolish.
---
On Monday I water you.
On Wednesday I water you.
On Friday I water you.
On Sunday I water you twice.
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The changes come slowly:
black at the base.
The first signs of decay.
---
You look sick now.
Like a cucumber.
---
I bury you in the shade.
cutlet
i knew it was coming
so i asked you to wait
while i showered
cleaning myself
the way wives clean cutlets
in the sink
before they shine them with butter
slice off the fat
and feed the scraps
to dogs
who drool spit
down their legs
and onto the floor
i was clean
when you told me
you didn’t want me
anymore
pumpkin
i lay the newspaper out
put you down
and map your end out
it’s easy
seeds first
then i remove
your hairs
your guts
your veins
spoons
and knives
and towels
and wipes
and bowls
of your slop
slick and wet
orange never looked so good on me
now you’re empty
flame
spills out of
the shapes I made
autumn came
you changed
don’t say you’re sorry
it’s too late