Dear Darling, (poem)

Dear Darling,

Day. Darling dear. Today, I woke up. I stabbed the bottom of my foot on the pointed tongue of my belt that I left on the floor from the night before. But I hopped. Foppishly. Got in the car. Went ridin' to your door. Knock knock. You there? Dear? Knock knock. Darling? I went around. I did. To the window. Looked through the back, it was cracked. So, I billowed in. Smoke stacks. Your throat smacks. Not coughs. Not clearings. Your unhappy snap-backs. I don't like snap-backs. But, I've got a strong back. Upright. You're uptight. I wrote to you. This letter. I read to you, this letter. I tell you things like. Girl, I wish I was gay. Men could never make me feel quite this way. She looks un-mellow. I don't wanna say cold. Ice cold. It's too overdone. Cliché. I needed a phrase to run fresh my way, but the only thing fresh my way was me and this letter. Hear me. Hear me. I knew you couldn't wait. For me to make some mistake. Maybe the same mistake as one of my many mistakes. One of the many mistakes that I'm unaware I make. One extra reason for you to think I'm a flake, or that I'm like a fly on a wall continuously landing, forgetting that every time I do I vomit. That's the pain of being awake. But. Not today. No. No. Today. My letter. That I wrote for you, inevitable you. Astoundingly predictable. Just waiting for me--you. I'm not gonna hold it in. I want you to know now, I called this in. There's not much to say that I know the insanity in...being with you.

  Love,
Your man.