A little bit of manipulation
can turn your eyes into mountains
with little crags and crevices
in which to hide your ego.
Stripes run the room
make a pretty cage
in which you can place your heart
when you set it down
- just for a moment-
to wash your dirty towels
with a clean conscience.
Laying here on your sheets of symbolism
on the bed you made yourself
not really understanding what it meant.
It was the woman at Ikea who told you
that the colors would go nicely
with your lopsided smile.
Slippery black, like Satan's silk,
my slip strap falls from my shoulder
gently grasing the teeth marks
that your perfect dentistry left
upon my aging flesh
in a moment determined to be passionate
by all who have judged the act.
Look through your magazines
find some new ailment
some shiny shortcoming
to hold over my head.
A three dollar box of blonde bombshell
goes a cold hard mile
when explaining to you
that gender rules would dictate
that I should get the pink mug
with my tablespoon of sugar
and third of a cup of milk.
*not really finished yet*