71. a poet sexting


sext: i’ll teach you how to identify wildflowers
with the paperback book i ordered online.
sext: i am standing outside the door
of the ocean and i am knocking.
i hear waves inside,
and you are calling my name,
although that might just be my imagination.
sext: i will buy all the makeup in the world
just so i can be a monet for you.
i will paint myself to my liking
and hope that you like it too.
sext: i’m obsessed with botanical names,
i’ll give you one to call you by.
you can be my lathyrus
lilium, limonium, lisianthus.
sext: did you know
that the meaning of forget-me-nots
is remember me forever?
that’s not so much a surprise,
but it is beautiful,
it is beautiful.
sext: you are like a sunday night
the last bite of chocolate,
the last cool breeze of spring.
everything unravels, after this.

sext: i’d trust you with my skin,
the treasure chest made up
of my bones,
and that’s like giving a stranger
the key to a city
that comes crashing down beneath
strangers’ hands.

sext: i am embarking
on some sort of journey
across the land that lines your soul,
ready to identify the wildflowers
i find there.