PLAYING HOUSE

we kissed consonants at each other
our lips fumbling over fumbleover
i thought about why people love zombies
as you crafted pie charts about love
i left the engine on
and stuck in the claustrophobic clusterfuck
of our romantic pissing contest
i wish someone would have closed the garage door
then we could have died slap-happy crack-happy
playing house and imitating the pretty people on the television set
her eyes were as blue as mountains
her tongue, as soft as record scratches
and my sculpture of myself was made out of leftover bits from childhood art projects
happy in the womb were we
our bodies arguing over awkward gesticulations
it was a stillbirth
each secret brought us closer until collision
the golden umbilical cord wrapped around our necks
we suffocated on love
auto erotic romantic pedantic asphyxiation
and our friends and family left the room as soon as we entered
love was circle ponies
and now
i don’t know what it is
until i do, i’ll pursue these one night stands with monogamy
these closed relationships with open wounds
and drain brain fluid onto dead trees

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

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