I'm hoping someone
will fall in love with me
through my poems

call me a genius, peer into my windows
for a glance of me writing
smoking
fucking
dreaming
falling

again

Can't someone examine my wares
and demand to see what I hide
in the back room,
offer to pay top dollar?

I don't know if I am a woman
that normal men can hold
I doubt my charm, my appeal
I send out centaurs
I reverberate vibes
and write living wills
when I feel I am about to die

I eat cheese doodles
til they crust my finger nails
I drink wine until my lips
blister, turn purple,
tumble to the floor
and I send them to you
with a self addressed
stamped envelope
with strict instructions

to please return them
when you are through
as well as my heart
my head
my soul

sprinkle liberally
with rock salt and curdled lye
stab the heart to make sure
it does not bleed through
cardboard, so the folks
at the post office
do not question

I don't think anyone
can ever fall in love with me
for more than a few seconds
but perhaps they can encircle
my poems, and allow them to touch their soul