The diameter of these circles
I hatewhat I see
too fat
too big
they stare
at me
from the mirror
as if I can control
the lines that form
as if it changes the curves of my brainwaves
My Mount Olympia
When the lint on the invoice envelope’s edge, looks like a man running for you,
I want a mother, I’ve always said, to hold me and melt me into her breast
for the heat rocks me to sleep
as if I could do anything but rest
bordered in your arms
you bat away the bees
around you that swarm
to taste this ambrosia
that never leaves me starved