Lilac Dove

Easter Sunday, girls with pink dresses
Mine is too
Sharp like prom king
Cursed like a weapon
Like a stay-at-home widow
Practically insincere

My poetry on the internet
Not the best idea
Rereading old diary entries
Not really the best idea either
A strategic sort of landmine

Rose body oil
That blends in softly
Tell me what you want from me
Don’t forget to put away the flowers
Before they rot
Before they rot

Peonies on the tabletop

Pnina Tornai wedding gowns
Wearing tiaras to the cafe
Your soft blue oversized sweatshirt
My love wide and vast like the sea

Hey how are you
Call out like cinder blocks
Tell me when it’s raining
I think you’re kind of amazing

Swing with me
Crystal blue eyes
Hums like paradise
Don’t forget to treat me real nice

On Seventh avenue
That’s where I’ll be with you
Soft knit fabric smooth on skin
Laughter for all seven sins

Where do we once begin
I’m trapped in the mood I’m in

Sweet cherry
Soft lace
I’m not one to misbehave
Cut up
Raw face
Turn the lights down in this place

You, there
Born wild
Riding down to the canyon
Me, still
Froze thick
You’re my chosen companion

Don’t look back twice
Motorcycle new and heavy
Desktop picture cute
Think we’re going steady

Is it time already?

A lawyer calling a client who doesn’t want to answer
The looming, engulfing ringtone sounds like a disaster
You could cut it with a
You could cut it with a

The ringing alarms
The after-school noise
You could cut it with a
You could cut it with a

Knees across knees
Tension quite rough
You could cut it with a
You could cut it with a

Projectile vomiting
Hazy chocolate sphere
You could cut it with a
You could cut it with a

Miniature corpses
That day of the dead bullshit
You should turn that shit off

You could cut it with a
You could cut it with –

Ten minutes after nine
In the swimming pool
How do I make you mine
You’re just so damn cool

With your bedazzled jeans
That I laughed at
And the way you cringe
Those eyelashes you bat

It’s spring-time and I’m back home
Found you waiting at my door
Iconic delusions, and the unknown
The Hollywood signs that call strangers whores

All of the falls and winters added up
And believe we’re back to this place
But what comes back
You’ll make disappear without a trace

You know that’d be a mistake