Effing Love Poems: No Oaks, but Roses

I want to see your whole face.
I want dispose of expectations
like old clothes that
don’t fit anymore.
Spiraling into your curves,
      sweetness,
neither of us goddesses,
filled instead with our everyday
mundanity—cut fingers from
      sharpening
our tongues and kitchen knives,
warm bruises from
long nights lain next to one another.
Let’s not be angels together,
nothing so divine
breaking all the pedestals
into marble dust that
neither of us will clean up.

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