TO MARLA

i think about it sometimes
messaging you and saying
“wanna take off
where we left off?”
i would play charles bukowski
and you would be marla singer
and i would attack you
the moment that you walked
through the door
your coat hanging recklessly
on a chair somewhere
thumping footsteps up the stairs
the bedroom door slams
and there we would be
young and stupid in an instant

afterwards i’d crack a window
so you could smoke
i can’t stand cigarette smoke
but i’d stand it anyways
and you would be coy
using your arms and legs
to cover yourself
and i would just lay there
and stare up at the ceiling
and the stucco images
that don’t really seem to form
anything
just random images
there for the sake of being there
and in one moment
sunglare piercing
i’d see your eyes grow wide
as mine grew small in their reflection
universes expanding
contracting
and i’d be in love
incredible original love
then boom it would be gone
and i’d realize
that i don’t want to play
charles bukowski
and i would offer you breakfast
no
i don’t think i could
offer you breakfast

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2014

READ “TINY LITTLE MOVER MEN”

Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

3 thoughts on “TO MARLA”

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