probably ovulating and swelling with love beyond what the magazines told me about.

us, on separate dates

i'm hanging over the balcony

arms like child arms

and you are below with your big round head 

and I can almost smell it

you're like me, like each other, a juggernaut

wanting to explode, jump, laugh, dream, love

i throw little buttons at you

make faces between acts

try and do that millennial thing 

with my hand and chin; falter.

later, i go home alone

and you too, i assume

a total of four cab rides.

five!  i took one there, while taylor took an arm chair upstairs

and I'm sitting in it, in a silk robe, smoking a roach

taking in the quiet times where i feel most myself, 

dripping languid goddessness

so inspired, i practice dancing. 

fold arms over legs, make new tattoo tableaus.

i think of you

i want to show you what a good time I'm having. 

my autonomous complete loving of the self

i want you to have it with me. 

i stand up, to show you my lap.

i look at my genitals. 

oh yeah, 

the first time i made a stage vagina i looked at this.

this looks like the first stage vagina i made

an old text from an old lover and i droop bit, a kink in the feather in the boa and

a new text from you. you tell me you love me and lightning bolt birds fly out of my chest and up the walls of my room and back again.  

i wanted to say it today and was thinking of ways all day. 
i didn't want to make it weird.
we already make it so, so weird.

Taylor and i mused over it, back to the Cosmo trash advice for invented ideals of woman, politely pleasing man. say you love something about them, say you love it when. i love it when...

then you text me about puke, and i love you too, dude.