We walk through our home like
two actors onstage, on cue
grinning and lurching over
the X's and O's.
We read from dusty menus
professing our I do's while
drinking from pretty carafes of poison.
I kiss you with dry, cracked lips
smelling of mothballs and saccharin.
You lug in your white picket
fingers and I come (undone)
at your beckon call.
The slats we love between cover
our faces hiding behind
the studs in the wall.
Our wooden expressions perfectly
practiced for friends and
neighbors in our hellish manicured
wonderland.
Wow!! MJB comes in kicking ass and taking names! I know people like this. Everyone thinks they're this happy happy couple, when in fact the whole thing is rotten at its core. The way you've expressed this, with the mothball kiss and the "slats we love between" is just fierce. Love it!
ReplyDeleteThank you sooo much. That means a lot to me since I am in awe of your writing, thanks ;)
ReplyDelete