What I Really Think of You by Catherine Zickgraf

I don’t fault you for clinging,
splayed low on my shower door.
You’re hung on the scum,
my hair on your tongue—
non-pubic at times, and otherwise.

You drool, eyes up.
Microscopic, your wants.
For the course of a week,
you’ve obsessed on me nude.
You’re fuzz at my feet:
you’re spotty, browned,
segmented like a roach in the ground,
Your sooty antennae squirm in the steam.
My exfoliates feed the pit of your mouth.

I tend not to blame you for being you
or for not being me, in complexity.
Decide though, I could,
to despise your existence
and bleach-force your corpse
down the slime of my drain.

Catherine Zickgraf

Catherine Zickgraf has performed her poetry in Madrid, San Juan, and three dozen other cities, but now her main jobs are to hang out with her family and write more poetry. Her new chapbook, Soul Full of Eye, is available on Amazon.com. Find more of her poetry at http://caththegreat.blogspot.com

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