Eve Rounds

my bed

your discontent began
before your consciousness allowed yourself to fear it.
having special requirements for your horizontal state
i yanked the sheets out from my beloved hospital corners
so that you wouldn’t feel a tug at your feet.
so that you could kick my leg.
so that you could slap my face.
so that you could
at me all night long and sleep more soundly.

i contorted myself
sleeping in the living room
and living in the bedroom
shall i count my blessings for not having to bathe in the kitchen sink?

and yet
your back aches upon waking
you can’t breathe out your nose
your dreams they all morph into nightmares

blame my carefully selected sleep number
accuse my ergonomically correct pillow
find fault in my way of living sunrise to sunrise alongside you.

revolving mattresses many times over and over and over and over and over and
never did satisfy your REM
replacing squares with rectangles and painstakingly folding them into antimicrobial cylinders
proved unsuccessful at holding your head. just right.
removing any obstacle that may potentially hinder your seven straight hours of smiling slumber was simply

i shouldn’t keep you in my bed.
i couldn’t keep you in my bed.
i wouldn’t keep you in my bed.
i didn’t.

say your prayers to the couch that provided you with no more than a lonely and permanent comfort.

nighty night.

good morning untitled

what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as

snip snip

the magic of a fresh cut i am literally lighter though not by much my shoulders have less to lug my neck has less to

but ok but

write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing

a 5 7 5 for e

peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!


is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would

a poem about you for you (and you)

you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love