i'm too much with myself, i wanna be someone else.

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i post poems with other ladies at grammatolatry

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  1. "

    Driving out of town, I see him crossing
    the Brooks Pharmacy parking lot, and remember

    how he would drop to his knees in the kitchen
    and press his face to my dress, his cheek flat against

    my belly as if he were listening for something.
    Somebody might be waiting for coffee in the living room,

    someone might be setting the dining room table, he’d
    place his face under my dress and press his cheek

    against my belly and kneel there, without saying anything.
    How is it possible that I am allowed to see him

    like this - walking quickly by the glass windows?

    - what he wears in the world without me,
    his hands swinging by his side, his cock quiet

    in his jeans, his shirt covering
    his shoulders, his own tongue in his mouth.

    "

     - Marie Howe, Separation (via grammatolatry)
  2. Show Notes