angels I

it isn't a matter of believing, it's that
they don't exist.
yet you sleep on a cloud
nextdoor.
just in case
the rapture happens we will
not be left for dead without chocolate smiles.
we won't be left for dead because
Fuck Him,
i know what angels look like.
They don't have halos, but
sparkling eyelids and
a criminal record.

simplifying.

I can taste the tortilla chips clinging
to your shirt through my nose
as if such a vest of armor could hold up
broken with pureed tomatoes.
Sure Grandma would agree love
tastes like salsa.
make everything a cave
Chop peppers in it
  glow.
ten years from today i will either
wake up next to you
wake up next to not you
not wake up.

tomorrow's lunch

i made a grilled cheese sandwich for you
even though i knew you weren't coming over.
i'm pretty hungry; convenient you're not here.
it's Pam-ing through and cheesing to the pages of a
little blacknotebook where I scribble messages
for later.

i wrote a grilled cheese tonight. Suppose
i'll eat a poem tomorrow.

Struggling behind my closed eyes and 

resonating in the chamber of my skull, there 

is a low hum. Our suctioned lips

are separable thanks to the

rays that shoot from my irises

     they mostly look like eyelashes

         sometimes they hit my glasses.

this is why we will live in a cave.

the smell of your hair

and toothpaste are Mexico tonight.
evening tiles and rocking
chairs, chalk cockroach repellant.
I've never smelled a daffodil,
they don't grow here.