LOOKED LIKE LAUGHING

Stenotype via Malone, S.S.

she says, love, I need a home like you:
a kitchen equipped with osseous cookware —
your fibula to stir the honey pot
and your elbow to pound the dough;
I want your pruned fingers peering
into the small cavern in my mouth —
I want digits like yours to strike minor
chords with my hellfire piano teeth,
and I want gospel organ progressions
upon hanging my skin in the foyer;
I want, because I no longer reside in you —
as the frame of your glasses remains absent
I preach, even the line which struck across 
the bridge of my nose is starting to heal

— it’s poetry recital night here at LLL