baby girl's gotta haiku in her hipbones
and she's calling me his name with her
drunken stutter.
i'm trying to tell her i'm not her lover
when all i wanna do is hold her,
bring her face into my shoulder
and press my hands into her soft belly.
i am wing-nut shy of losing hope tonight,
the grey sky luna breathing shanty lost cause into
the wholesome economy of midtown avenue nothingness.
she is aggressive with her belt loops
as i graze the sharp edge of my five o'clock shadow,
she is wearing waterproof eye-liner,
a raccoon streak of trying too hard
like garbage on her face.
i want to wipe her down and undress her
without making her feel used.
i want to feed her dry toast and hot water
and take her shoes off slowly.
i want to make her laugh about something
she cries about later when i'm not around.
i wanna go to her and make it better.

but it ain't my name she's calling out.
i'm just the one who hears her.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...