Clean

Upon feeling overwhelmed by the world
by a growing to-do list, by finals, by too many thoughts in my head

I clean.
laundry will do, but dishes are my favorite.

I love the rhythmic repeating and repeating of motions
circular scrubbing,
circles
circles
circles
until the pile of once dirty plates and bowls and glasses and stress
is dripping dry
and my mind is a little calmer

That's what I was doing when you stopped by my apartment.
I was cleaning.

You tried to get my attention
insistently placing yourself in my path

I had a goal I was determined to achieve
I needed to clean
I needed that calming rhythm
your presence was an annoying distraction, a disruption in the melody of order that I was conducting

You told me to calm down
to slow down
told me that I was scaring you
how quickly I was going
how focused I was
I needed more dishes
I wanted more things to clean
circular scrubbing
circles
circles
circles
until they were free of blemishes and imperfections

Finally, I bored you enough that you were ready to leave
you asked
no
you demanded a good night kiss
and you put your hands on me
reminded me why I was in a frenzy in the first place

A week and a half before this.
the night we met
when you touched without permission
took things that didn't belong to you

afterwards
I felt dirty
blemished
unclean.

I wish i knew how long I spent in the shower
scrubbing at my skin
scrubbing circles
circles
circles
circles
never feeling clean
never being able to reach deep enough to remove the marks you left on me
no soap was strong enough to erase the scarlet letter I was sure was branded across my chest
maybe it was just all that scrubbing
rubbing my skin raw so that I couldn't remember how it felt to have your hands corrupt the secrets of my flesh

I denied you a good night kiss
and told you to leave.

I went to bed, exhausted
I had cleaned myself out
my hands were dry and cracking
my back, sore and tight

I forgot you.
slowly but surely
let you fade away from my body's memory
a stain on my past that has finally been washed away.

still, even now
when the world is overwhelming
i clean.
laundry is good, but I prefer dishes.
prefer the repeating, circular rhythm.

but I no longer feel the need
to clean
my own skin.

I am not dirty or blemished or broken
not any more.

1957 cadillac

Your touch is a reverberation
from my past lives' best moments
rumbling through my tendons

that's why my knees shake every time you kiss me

your finger tips are willow tree leaves
softly dipping into my mental rivers
rippling and redoubling
pressing against their banks and levees

you bring chaos floods to my organized aquatic system

and I love it.

you can tell
put your head to my chest
i think you can hear me purring like a 1957 cadillac
a true and trusted classic
sleek and shiny and ready to go

Toenail Poetry

I don't want to write you toenail poetry
like
when your best friend goes on an experimental baking phase
and you're the guinea pig
and the piece of pie is delicious
except that somehow
a toenail
ended up in the middle of it
but you pick it out and pretend like nothing is wrong
and smush the rest around on your plate
because you don't want to discourage her

but every time I try to write something for you
I find gross bits that are proof of terrible hygiene in all the pieces
and I can't help thinking that you're smiling at all the delicious parts
maybe I'm just using the wrong recipe or the wrong metaphor
but you deserve more than toenail poetry

you deserve a verbal van gogh
words with beauty enough to rival any starry night we might ever see
that I can only write for you when we've turned the lights out
and I've curved my body to match yours
like we're double open parentheses at the beginning of our story
when my fingers are knotted with yours like tangled kite string
and I hear the familiar lullaby of your sleeping heartbeat

I write you pages and pages and chapters and entire BOOKS in my mind when no one is listening
One night, I was first author on the box set of sonnets about your eyes
that no one will ever see
because I can't ever make it to paper quickly enough
maybe it's because when I try to get out of bed
you pull me back towards you
even when you're asleep

and I know better than to try to get away from you
you're too strong.
you're a warrior
with the gentlest touch I have ever known

you...
you're not the Romeo to my Juliet
because I actually read that shit all the way through,
unlike Taylor Swift
and I'm not a big fan of tragedies or double suicides

so
you are the Han Solo to my Princess Leia
minus the Luke incest weirdness
You are the Ron Weasley to my Hermione Granger
without Harry's angst
You are the Doctor to my Rose Tyler
but not in a parallel universe
You're the Corbin Dallas to my Leeloo
and the Commander Shepard to my Liara
without me being an alien
You're the Howard Wolowitz to my Bernadette Rostenkowski
but less creepy and high pitched

you're the honey bee to my honeysuckle kisses
you're the man who makes me feel more beautiful when I don't wear make up
the one I fell in love with the exact moment we met
under tall trees and twinkling lights

I thank whatever gods of fate that decided to be kind enough
to let you be mine
you are the single most amazing, wonderful, and handsome man I have ever known
who deserves more than toenail poetry
so I'm trying to make it sound right
trying to make it match the feeling I get whenever you smile at me
when hummingbirds flutter in my shoulder blades and give me goosebumps
when I see that the rest of my life is always going to begin with waking up next to you
I'm trying as hard as I can

to put all you mean to me
into the words
"I love you"