No, that wasn’t a euphemism for

Anything, you have a dirty mind.

I keep reminding you to buy milk but

All you do is write in my books,

My first editions of going nowhere,

In a dingy apartment off of the beaten road.

Robert Frost is staring back at me from the

Mirror and I stroke my beard,

Contemplating cutting my

Hair with salty alcohol and your love.

You finally buy milk and watermelons and a

Book by Ginsberg. My smile

Hurts my sallow face from my position near

The oven. I wake up

And read your breaths against my skin.

How is that you know Morse code and I don’t?

.. / .-.. — …- . / -.– — ..- .-.-.-