Words unspoken

Special

I am not your usual
painted face:
the talk talk talk bird,
grinding humbug,
tall slender pitiful thing,
burnt skin with high cheeks
that go pop pop pop
when America sings
hot hot hot during the daytime.
Full rider without a wave
but a flat block of pavement.
And you take me in?
...with sex and other gentle things.
You are not my usual, dear,
with your sun-kissed eyes that I cannot read,
a tongue that asks, "what do you want to say?"
clothes branded like cows in the
same shiny tired car lot.
Fee-fie-foe-fum with a constant tan and a
most excellent six-pack.
Whole arms that carry me for miles,
big mouth that eats all drugs
and simple smiles.
And I take you in?
...with sex and other laughing things.
I can't figure this out of you
I am not your type, and yet you say
"Weirdly, no..but mine has never worked before"
So we strain our legs and learn
each other's score of strides,
the titles we give words,
the length of our kisses,
how sleep can be successful
with the two of us.
all for the sake of being fucked empty
like the corner of a burnt out drug store.
But I am not yours.
You lick me at the corners,
as I kiss you at your voice.
You call me "woman" but
I feel the sweetness of your being
the meaning of your touch
the innocence in your sleep
and I know you cannot fathom
why this matters
in your realm of being the one
who fucks sex and makes dolls be dolls.
The risk of bumping our heads,
shaking the wrong hands,
walking on different plains,
screaming from unusual tongues,
the wastes of time and hoping,
and the hearts that fall out of line...
is a great beast in the room.
We pet him, we kiss him, we fuck him
until he's had enough.
and then what?
I cannot dream of it being love.