I was thinking of the times I lost my heart to strangers,
And it occurred to me that each boy stained me blue,
– each girl red.
I remember how they tasted, deep in my throat, in my dreams and puff-blowing sheet streams.
The boys were salty
– The girls, peach-fed.
Remembering all I used to dream makes me feel wheezy.
I dreamt of enjoying multiple lives, spread smooth over the cracks between each new lover.
Each crack represented to me a leap into a fuzzy world hung far and further from my own (oh please, God).
But now there’s no use in romanticising, or counting the branches left broken/unbroken from each lofty tumble.
Each love was a perfect hue of gOld.
Of starry-night dew.
Each love since ironed,