I.

i used to say your name
in the morning
before i had swallowed
any juice or water
i would lie
in your bed
that felt like air
that's old or already been
breathed
stale and spent
words would spill
from my mouth
with lips puffy and numb
from too much wine
the night before
i would rise slowly but everywhere
like steam rises from streets

before anyone sees

i would drive home
in graceless confusion
too warm for heat
i would turn it on anyway
just to feel it burn, my feet
blistered from running
no where
they scream
ENOUGH,
tired
i would go back to bed
at quarter to eight to rest
my bones aching as though
they should.

II.

now when i say your name
like orange juice with too much pulp, it tastes
smooth and familiar at first, but it leaves
a gritty feel in my mouth, like swallowing sand.
and i remember how
you told me you loved to watch me write
you said it was like having sex,
mindless and hedonistic
and you smiled in that moment
because you had used a "big word"

you must have known
i would use that sentence
in a poem, some day.