Love Happens in September

The soft opening of your mouth is the cul-de-sac where I grew up
I want to play outside until the street lights come on
I want to feel the sunburn of your fingernails digging into my back
Claw my clothes off with your vultured lust
Let me be the corpse that I feel like
You won't

Someone downstairs is listening to opera and I don't know why anyone does anything anymore

I want to buy wine from Target and I want to remember what its like to have a conversation
With anyone new
I want to stop bitching out on myself

Today is my recital
I am my own empty seat
I am my own swallowed tears, I am at the piano empty
Because I never wrote the screenplay
I wanted to do it before I died and the sun burning holes in my stockings
Reminds me of my mortality
I am worried, I don't have enough sunscreen
And I don't have enough time and I don't have enough hands to love you

The collective you, as if kisses were something
I could glue to the pages of my scrapbook
My venom is an open book but my heart is an open suitcase

My body is an hourglass that keeps running out on you
My heart is a habit that you keep trying to break