Baby Turtles and [Busted?] Condoms
The perfect surprise: soft green flippers
peddling past my toes. So determined to get
their goal. Like you, my serpentined seraph,
so feral in your pursuit of . . . everything. You
desire the universe. Forcing your own parameters
over and through the norm. I am just
another niche you style. Placing me
on a shelf [re-]labeled: contained. I forget
to mind that you forgot to aerate my lips.
I embrace the staleness of this slower suffocation.
Preferring its welcoming numbness
to the consummate barrage of [in]consistent
image projections: your full frontal flashes
confronting me daily. (Come nightly they haunt
me.) Until I too am reduced to [focus on] a pile
of discarded . . . tissued . . . knocks.
*Em Dash Editor's Choice Award -- June 2013