the gargoyles in the front yard have
tipped over and they now lie down flat
on their sides
moss is growing on their bellies
the sun hits them every day
they’re so small
not as small as i feel
but that’s another poem
i’ve yet to write
in your car you flick your cigarette
the ash comes back in the window
my starving stomach gargles not like the gargoyles their bellies are faced up and mine is turning inwards two deep inhales
only one exhale
where did you just go?
i went to the beach, that one day
you know which one i’m speaking of
we fucked
nobody knew
it was gay
(we’re so gay )
it was the type of cold that stings
not the same type as your bathtub,
and i should’ve realized what that meant
pretending it’s a sunny day when
we fell in love in the snow