Nebula1

By Mickie Lynn

“You’re the this we need to put an end to.”
-Jeffrey McDaniel

Hey big fella, giving me that twinkled eye,
are you looking for a star lit night to misery?

Buy me some timeshares in Long Island
iced teas.

Whisper the sweet nothings
of an anorexic in my overweight ear.

Alone, we’ll unwind
all the clocks and time will stand still.

Entangle our limbs
in tree vines and passion fruit.

Twist up our tongues
in a risqué dance from the 50’s
while our hips rise and fall with the beat.

I’ll give you my sleep number
with the promise of comfort for years.

“Yes, we should do this again,”
I say with everything crossed but my eyes.

I lie
at the bottom of a deep pool of deceit.

No rescue from the sky comes when ET phones home,
because I won’t answer.

Your texts are out of context;
my hangnail gets more of my attention.

You’ll begin to wonder
if I’ve been in a head on collision
with death swinging from the handlebars,

or if tongues of flame have licked
and engulfed me down to the scorched halls of hell.

Then you’ll hope that dreams do come true,
when the rejection slip slides
under skin.

And I will have replaced the reel,
changed the film,
with a searchlight between my teeth
looking to illuminate that elusive ‘one.’

So how about that drink?

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