trash for someone i've seen twice
Why am I not allowed to just gather your face into my hands and pull you close whenever I see you? I would melt all over the floor. Solids to liquids, liquids to solids – I wouldn't be able to do it.
I imagined you were waiting in the metro station with me tonight. I didn't mind the exceedingly humid air of too many people in too small a place because I couldn't get enough of your little hot, salty kisses. My metro came and I was snapped back into the reality of the old woman with the broken-off toenail glancing at me every few seconds.
It's too fucking humid in the metro station.
I make flowers for you by digging through my trash and through the trash of others. In two minutes the beach will be exploding with fire, and I want to write all my love notes all over your body – the creases where your arms bend, around and around and around your stomach, down the verticals of your spine, behind your ears where your mother told you to wash, the soles of your feet, the curviest part of your leg. The streetlights want us to be in my bed, but you are elsewhere and I am elsewhere and my bed is elsewhere.
My intentions are completely pure, though I'm sure that impure intentions are the least of your worries.
* Katrina is a girl who lives in Denver, Colorado. She spends her time fighting with her cat and crying when she loses the fights. She also enjoys writing non-sequitur letters to non-sequitur strangers.
