there was
wine
opulence
books -
of course,
no you
i carried on
anyway
lotioned
my ample breasts,
polished
my toes.
i know you well,
had you been here
you would have
offered to help
with the lotion
we’d have laughed
about
your generous nature
thumbing
the pages
i thought
how much you’d have
hated her -
kahlo
the vulgarity
of her honesty,
refusal to conform
to your feminine
ideals
wouldn’t settle well
we’d argue
as i straddled you
beneath the canopy
your palms
sleeping flat
atop my thighs
i’d remind you
she wore roses
in her braids
always returned
to a cad
that couldn’t commit
for no reason
other than love
and
finally
her art
came from pain -
you would roll
your eyes
in
a diego like fashion
swear
she was genius
smother me
with silent lips
and
exhale
as
the angels
grew jealous
over
our frantic
exchanges
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