Day 3 of 90

But did you not cup the puddle of me
in your palms and scold the asphalt for
the audacious act of ever touching me?

There in the frozen dry air when I
walked into the night
for the 98th time,
this time I wanted to die
in the middle of the street
beneath the lifted tires of a Chevy Silverado.

I wanted to close my eyes and wake up
transformed into chipseal.
I wanted to become the unfeeling stone
and take in the rain,
the sun
and the oil drips
with the static stoicism of the dead.

And you chased after me,
white Honda civic humming
warmer than home
with the windows down and
a crack in your voice that
leaked down the back of my throat
hot and disarming as sex.

I remember the indignant way I
opened the door and sat
with a lit cigarette in my lips and
I couldn’t even raise the blank wells in my skull to show gratitude, but
you were putting down roots even then-
like an impossible dandelion,
stubborn through the sidewalk split.

Did you not hold me against your chest
when I was shuddering and choking
on the toxic sludge that I kept in my belly
like a backyard underground septic tank
overflowing with a rage and a stink
that even I reeled away from?

Did we not look like children
kissing timidly under the strobe lights,
in the middle of the desert
with the EDM version of
Smells Like Teen Spirit
screaming from speakers
bigger than the trailer I grew up in,
while the preteens in their black lace teddies
played disaffected demonic around us?

There was a time when we met
in the Astral plane,
our physical bodies were tangled in
a muted intimacy and sweating out
sugar cubes soaked in acid and
you looked like an Alex Grey painting

I was a river of rapid black water
and you were the human form lit up with lucid,
elated to be drowning.

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