Crush is the word they use
Crush is the word they use to make young girls feel boneless, despined, pining for love that is always beyond the fraying borders of self. Control it, temper the warmth rising within, the nerve to speak of a soul unerring. i am sure you are right to take it slow. i am bursting all heat now your mouth unfurls in a damp film that covers my skin i drink the water you poured over me last night and wonder when you’ll abandon me and i’ll turn off the light, pretending to put you away instead of watching you unlatch outside while i toe back to the stale steam. Is it really a crush if i choose to feel deep caverns opening. If i let you change me, am i prostrate and broken or am i an unfixed participant in my own life, guilty only of wanting everything i touch, unhindered, ecstatic, NOW? I know a supernova takes millions of years but we see it as one flashbulb pop–recede, recede. Universes go dark and in this small light I am still not crushed.
They do not think
Today the world listens to a woman on what used to be the radio while two men have a conversation in a Thai restaurant above a girl, a woman unaborted, a person who grew into a placemat. They do not think what they did to the other woman, the voice who lives in server boxes and signals, while they sit at tables and grease each other like car engines. Sadness in a song makes the point but felt and unexpressed, it sharpens. She wanted a moment but at the end of the line he said, “tomorrow” and still she is here shouting, singing