to her:

i carry on this affair because i know that in the depths and the roots of your hair
you'd kill for this kind of affection and a section of my nights are freed up for dalliances
(and i can hardly stand to not be filled up now and again any way anyway
(like a car in need of juice to go go go it's kind of the same with me) )

and when we're sitting on the moldy plywood dock and wearing 1940s charcoal blue smocks
i always get the feeling that we will start reeling with anxiety if i don't keep up the chatter
and so i do what you do so that i know what the blue of your dress feels like
and then my girl and i have something to unfurl and dissect and chatchit about for some time

because when it comes down to the brass tacks and brown of it all
i'm just trying to scrub and bleach away afternoons with each rub and toss of our body
the our that's happening right now, there's no consistent right now our you know

do i really really do i i do really really i do i do i have to do this again? again? again? again?
not again.