Crush
Previously Published in The Thorny Locust

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Crush

 

You linger like an unwritten ode

in my Cheerios at nine in the morning,

attacking my early thoughts

tight like a monkey wrench.

But you’ll get no love poem from me,

oozing with Hallmark sentiments

and singing heartstrings,

mushy with the story of your eyes.

I’d like to think of you more as a sickness,

probing my belly with vomitous fingers,

making my stomach acid churn like

cottage cheese and heavy butter.

Your entrance stops my pulse with horror.

Your closeness makes my eardrums water.

Your greeting turns my kneecaps

cold as a dead morning snowstorm.

I can’t get away from the fever of your existence.

I can’t find a cure for your face.