Jeremiah 9

If my arms were larger, you could sleep in their shade, or rest in the dell between my thighs.

"It's not good to be too available", she said, the cigarette hanging out between her clenched teeth, slowly distending over her bottom lip. "Jesus. When you smoke your entire mouth looks like a vagina", I said. She laughed, and the cigarette moved slightly down. "A monster vagina with one enormous clitoris.", I said. "Attack of the monster vagina!", she cried, trying to balance the cigarette in her mouth as she chased me around the couch.

Your tears smelled of desire.

I learned to wrap myself around the stem of your body like those strings used to tie bouquets of dying flowers, and grew sick of the raspberry taste of your kisses. "I would turn my lips into peaches if it would make you stay", you said. "I just don't love you", I said, waiting for your fingers to slowly unravel from mine. The words were not smooth; they hurt around the edges, and I knew you were waiting for me to cry.

But the fall has passed; rotten wheat chafes at my mountains, my petals grow dry, and I too, have learned to forget the desire that comes with the touch of thighs.