Bottled

It seems he caught another case of jungle fever,
had to feed his wood to a little black beaver.

Who will it be to cut that wood of his down?
(play me a fool and I’ll be your clown)

Brought back into the game of Decepticon
Love is fleeting … will soon be gone.

Ever so patiently I will torment myself
these memories, too, will be placed on the shelf
in their own uniquely twisted bottle
that I will covet and will coddle.

But eventually, it will be
just another dust collector.

all wrapped up

He wraps me with his words
Like a sleeping bag with holes in it
and
like a short circuiting electric blanket.
Electrocuted
with a cold draft up my ass
I roll over
and become
swathed further in his oral linen.
This time
flannel sheets with satin patches
and
I nestle in
wanting
as he whispers bubble wrap
around my aching head
and suffocates me
with his cellophane smile.