Submissions by Betty

I intended to show off,
get my prose on,
kick someone in the balls with my
erudite social commentary;

but then I remembered
I no longer think
about anything but you.

While you’ve slept
I’ve come to the stunted conclusion
that I must have fucked a unicorn in a past life
to unbalance my karma,
disperse my wa,
and pee on my parade
on this galactic a scale.

It had to have been an entire herd, really,
that my reward for
beating down one addiction
turned me into a junkie for you. ...

I want to use you like a slip-n-slide in the unfenced, suburban-backyard of my mind;      
open, with the eyes of the world on me      
as I become a physics teacher      
to demonstrate friction  
and lubrication        
in minute detail,        
from the tips of your toes,        
to the ends of your hair.        
       
I want to be covered in fantasy      
(and other... things)        
slick with sweat, need, fulfillment,        
and I want to do calisthenics, stretches...    
push-ups along your naked...

I don’t know in which part of the      
“my-slim-ankles-on-your-shoulders,      
your-strong-hands-under-my-ass,”    
conversation to insert      
the unimportant matter      
that I have loved you      
since before the heavens      
and earth fell from each other;      
and I will still  
long for the taste of  
myself  
on your lips,      
when the world is      
a faded dream in the ether,      
and I am but a ghost
on its surface.  

I do so want to compare thee to a summer’s day,
and let your temperance fall like spun sugar on my lips:

But face it, baby,
you ain’t temperate,
and
I live in the subtropics.

So fuck it.  

Fuck the peppermint dreams I’d think
if it wasn’t
(if you weren’t)…
So…
Damn…
Hot… .

When I compare you to a summer’s day,
I’m thinking humid, sultry, sticky, wet,
so damn hot I have to pull apart my thighs,  
as your candy kisses melt like welts against my bare shoulders.

And...