Here's this week's www.textsfromlastnight.com poem.
(248):
I make my boyfriend pay for half of my birth control. We call it his monthly rent.
The Japanese have it right,
You know? With verbs
and such.
It’s not one person exacting desire upon another
With us. It’s two silly people, pleasuring together.
So Billy comes up with twenty five bucks each month,
Slips it in a crossed out mother’s day card and writes a self-penned
haiku.
We balance. We till our emotional acre.
Loathe washing dishes. So he makes up songs about
Tiny, evil, pig-tailed clones. He considers each dish, scrubs
it clean. My hip to his.
I dry.
He’s scared of death. I put the collector of breath on trial
In our bathroom, wore a shower cap as a judge’s wig,
Sentenced it to life without parole. Plunger as a gavel.
And then we celebrated, laughing and peeling off the soggy fear.
Each kiss more hungry than the last.
I have trouble sleeping. So he rubs his hands together,
Until each pore is a bright, determined ember,
And he traces me, feet to the roots of my hair,
Restoring my moon shadow. I snore, he smiles.
We love making.
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