IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK
Through Your Teeth
You’re probably better off
I think it was the orchestrated
sunrise splashing warmth on your
eager skin that first shocked me,
how in control you simply were
and how unabashedly you wore the
gold necklace the rays formed,
choking you, but not choking you.
You spoke gentle caresses to the sky
like taming a wild thing, the same you did
the night before, to me, now her.
I’m probably better off forgetting that.
I’m probably better off forgetting you.
You said nice things through gritted teeth
and the pearly whites, heavenly white, chattered
as well on chilly nights, because only the
brightest of sun sustained you. Roses bloomed
on your cheeks and died on your neck
when you blessed the shade with misty
whispers that writhed in wreaths.
Even complaining, you were calculating, a waltz
of discontent.
