Electric Fields, Charged Objects

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A half-true story.

Submitted: April 08, 2008

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Submitted: April 08, 2008

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I wish I didn't need to say
Your lips are too big for mine.
They cover my face and make
An obnoxious, dry sound when you kiss me.
You never notice.

You hold me down too hard
And squeeze me until my spine defies all laws of
Physics, professor.
You hold me down until I wonder if
I will have to yell for the neighbors.

You and your goddamned unsweetened iced teas.
Your upper west side twang. A cold weather voice.
Your loud, shiny Indian
Announcing its presence
In a parking spot two buildings down.
WE ARE FUCKING, it says.
WE ARE FUCKING CRAZY
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY!
And then you will go
Lecture to a room
Of one hundred and thirty-three glazed-over freshmen
About density
Tension
mag-
ne-
tism
About what keeps you coming back.
I think about their eyes on you.

You know that I'm safe.
I won't ever pass you on campus.
I've avoided the sciences my entire life--
It's not such a new thing.

Pay attention to my thoughts
My taut
Pristine, 22 year-old mouth.
Just let me talk to you about books
(I've been reading a little Sagan, just for you)
And dissatisfaction--
All the expected quandaries of youth.
And please pretend to listen.
In exchange, I will let your
Foucault pendulum swing in my orbit
Until the world spins off its axis.


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