The Lovers
we gain hours in Fall
we fall into hours and days and years
of staying unequipped
to living outside our
machinery
we tell everyone we love them if it’s midnight
we carry ourselves to bed
and never care for our teeth the way we care
for our sadness
we collect plants just to let them die
and sing to them in hopes
that means we loved something that day
a house isn’t a home
unless you live well inside yourself
a loud mouth is a horn with nowhere to turn
simple love is best
orchid love,
a patient push through roots
if we’re lucky
flowers bloom
if we’re not
they still do
Notes of a Dirty Young Woman 