This Is Not a Psychotic Love Poem |
I won’t mention
that I’ve counted
the hairs on the back
of your neck thirty-two
times in the last
four minutes.
I won’t point out
that I sleep
with a grocery list
you once threw away.
I won’t imply
that I lurk
outside your window
every night
just to watch you read.
I won’t suggest
that when I close
my eyes I see your mouth.
I won’t insinuate
that your hair
smells like laundry
and patchouli
mixed with a touch
of chlorine,
and is as soft
as the underside
of orchid petals.
copyright 2005
Leslie Maryann
Neal |