Caroline

You could write 

while I paint. 

And the teapot would whistle 

and you add honey to my chamomile and test its heat. 

Killing flowers makes me cry. 

So you plant seeds. 

The windows are big 

Because you know I love the sun. 

The bookshelves tall, mismatched, overfilling. 

Call in to work for me

Just so you can sleep with me. 

While waiting patiently for me to fill my canvas, pace and recite your thoughts from across the room. 

My fingers are stained with oil-based cerulean, your new favorite color. 

Take my face in your hands and smell the linseed. 

 

Breathe deeply. 

I melt in your hands like the honey. 

Dance me around the furniture 

while records play. 

And on that cast-iron bed, 

we commit selfishness— 

taking from the other 

Lips and hands and tongues become well-versed travelers and conquerors. 

Drunk from wet mouths. 

A heartbeat current, metallic in the mouth. 

Angered at the night for its small hours. 

I take the clock off the wall and wind it to yesterday.