Dear Good Sir–

[AKA. Yo Engaged Dude, You’re Still Staring At Me]

You aren’t well behaved on Mondays
that boding stare of yours
burying itself in my bones
singing the milk of my marrow
boiling me like burnt butter
crusted on the bottom of a pan
I need to soak
after all this silent courting
eyes laced in the gaping of rooms
my delicate mouth fat with worry
over words
&whether to say them
—or keep eating them
Your eyes are very intense sir
I don’t know what color they are
something silly to know them
so intimately
&still not know them
at all.



We’re writting letter poems this week for workshop &it beats a fifth or sixth poem about anxiety! (anxiety poems are the shit though. I think I found my niche.)

One thought on “Dear Good Sir–

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