You are the music of two grasshoppers making love on a rosebush outside my schoolyard,
where four-year-olds ask me,
“Andrea,what are the grasshoppers doing?”
and I tell them they’re dancing to the music
of you are the gaps in my ribcage where the sunrise shines through to my heart
and you are the part of the sunset that is so pink
the grasshoppers think ‘maybe we should just stop and watch’
You are the moon when it blooms for the very first time
and the child, inspired, unwound the little jar that set 10,000 grasshoppers free.
And you drive me fucking crazy.
I mean insanely.
You make me wanna take a fork to my eyeballs,
rip the hair from my arm pits and shove it down my throat
‘cause I would rather choke than argue another minute with you,
but you are so pretty and smart.
You know so many words.
You’re every poem I would write if ink could ever hold the light that glows from your toes
when you’re climbing up trees.
II swear you got sap running thick in your veins
and I never love you more than when you’re mourning the death of raindrops falling foresaken on pavement.
God I love how you hate pavement
but you make me wanna smash my skull on pavement.
It’s true when we argue you make me wanna rip off my nose, bone and all,
like my uncle Billy used to pretend to do
he’d say “girl, I’m gonna rip off your nose”
and he’d tug at my face and hold out half his thumb
and half the time he’d fool me and I’d start crying but I’m older now.
and I’m not lying you make me wanna rip off my nose
…except when you don’t
…Sometimes you make me wish I had an extra nose only to smell your hair
because I love how your hair smells like hair.
I always hated the smell of shampoo.
Besides, I love you, it’s true.
The way you pretend to chew gum when you’re nervous.
The way you stick out your tongue when you look in the mirror
‘cause you think your face is shaped better that way.
And I love the way you pray.
And I love the way you chew and use chopsticks like you’re from Japan
or China or where ever chopsticks are from.
God, you’re a woman of culture I wanna eat you like not a vulture… A swan.
I wanna eat you like swans eat flowers.
Baby, if swans ever ate flowers I would eat you like that for hours
…except when you’re sour
… And acting like a self-righteous grumpy old grump like you do sometimes
‘cause those times you make me wanna run to the edge of the fucking world
and hurl myself into a black fucking hole and never come back ever…
And then there are the times I wanna be with you forever.
And follow you forever where ever you go.
If only for that freckle in the middle of your belly that’s just like mine
or the time you corrected me for saying man instead of human kind.
I can’t believe I did that.
You know how much I love your boobs.
Almost as much as I love how you hate that I call breasts boob.
And say you’re tired of dating a twelve-year-old boy but God your boobs bring me joy,
Though I could live forever between the lines of your teeth and eat nothing but memory
and purge myself clean.
You are a dream.
We are a nightmare sometimes,
but if you wake up crying I’ll be there to hold you
fold you in the pockets of my faith and say “we’ll be okay…”