Empirical Evidence for an End
©1999 by Jamie Rose

You plunge on with life, it's all
Insomnia and mechanical flight, what
Kind of grace is there in that...?
You come home & call me Sugarpill,
Fall on the blank sheets next to me,
Make love like it's just dessert...
I wonder if you would find it slightly disheartening
That I didn't throw myself through my day like
A brick through a window,
Instead I poured myself from one soft place to another...
Maybe it would frustrate you to know how
Fabulously I languished in my laziness...
I lie on the bed, waiting for you, stuffing myself with
Extravagant foods...
You come home to me, your drowsy baby,
Try to pull my clothes off before I doze off,
Probe me in the places you already know are effective so
I respond like machinery...
There's no human fear in your eyes as you face-first
Hurtle into me, driving the sexual ghost moans out of me like
An exorcist...
You laugh, humoring, when I treat your
Skin in new ways, when I bury myself into you like I'm in a trance…
On my birthday, you brought me a rose...
But I know it was only because you had its buying written
Somewhere on the ever-enslaving list kept in your date-book...
Oh, baby, your polystyrene affections have worn me out…