I Called Z Passably Pretty
And she was unhappy about it.
I am either pretty, or beautiful, your choice.
But you’ve always called me the latter
And so with you, in the sanctity of us,
I was always beautiful. What’s changed?
Or are you fucking with me, playing,
Always playing, but with an edge, sometimes
Too sharp. Read your poems
To me, mine to you. Think of us in a dark
Room, me slowly unbuttoning my shirt,
You’re on fire, that should do it.