i am yard marks on an open field. you run
home
runs and collect us as notches in your bedpost.
it
tickles when you scout my body. you trace
the
number seven on the inside of my thighs.
seven
out of ten. draw an eight--
i’ll
be happy, i’ll be infinite. sweat
and
rain. it pours in your bedroom and i'm caught with the flu.
my
umbrella is in the birth control pills i pop
every
morning. it’s in your convenient allergy to latex, to me spending
the
night, and to us tag-teaming against your friends on xbox. you’re
asleep
when
i leave your torrential bed. i drive around and hate myself.
there’s
dirt and astro-turf in my hair and sweat and sperm on my skin.
windshield
wipers are ineffective
when
the downpour is inside the car.
__________
sydney
cunniff is the unknown variable that you can't find, nor do you
really want to find, in your math homework. she wishes she lived in
san francisco and she loves sylvia plath. you can find her blog at
moleculess.tumblr.com.