The parking meter and the the pieces of 
my body on your nightstand. 

Empty your pockets of me
on the nightstand. 
Untangle me 
from loose change and wadded
up receipts that count our bodies
in stacks of pennies and dimes--
Save the quarters for the parking
meter in front of my house
and we can count ourselves
down in half-hours.
You can tell me that you 
love me but
only like the steady falling
of all the numbers out of our
mouths--
we talk like 
parking meters-- like
thick-bellied tip jars-- 
like pinball bumpers blinking
back and forth-- 
we intertwine 
like the knob of a gumball machine--
slide down the neon spiral into 
each other's throats--
Call me bubble gum. Call me 
candy wrapper on 
the coffee table.
I can be peppermint if you
want this to feel more like winter--
But you'll have to spend some
time cutting all the summer out
of my hair first--

You say you have leave-- that
you already 
carry me too heavy in your sleeves-- 
Oh and curse my paper weight bird bones
and my eyes lashes of pine cones-- 
gather me in sea shells we both
collected to pretend we knew
what vessel love was carried in.
Tonight me and you are three quarters tall--
carry me to a nightstand--

there's no more space on the 
shelf for all the acorns
I have left in your pockets
and I'd understand if you wanted
to throw them away-- out a window 
or rested in sea shell-- I was planting 
a forest in your sweaters
so one day you would wake up and find
that there weren't enough numbers
to name all the different shades of
leaves-- we'd learn how the trees
sign their lover's names in their bark with
patterns of roots and autumn--
I leave my name on your nightstand
spelled from the numbers 
that fell from my mouth--

I don't want to go home yet
measure me in change if
you have to-- I can be a nickle
skyscraper-- a red wood of greeny--
rain pennies-- 
And you'll tell me you
have to leave-- havetoleave
and I'll say that there's 
five more pennies in the parking
meter and that there's still 
parts of you in all my coat pockets.
I'll offer you pin wheel mints 
and another hand full of sea shells
another hand full of ticket stubs
another fortune cookie promise
that  reads
"we all end up on a nightstand"

And you havetoleave
havetoleave and I have to become
a nightstand and you have
to wake up in a forest and 
we have to talk like parking meters 
and you tell me you love me
and read my poetry from 
a crumbled receipt.