in remembrance of 
the disposable love poetry of white boys--
when was the last time you eloped with yourself?

boys love so much like a snicker doodle--
laugh your hair covered in cinnamon and sugar--
dissolve in the glass of milk-- take
a thumb full of butter over your lips
and promise you that this time they
learned LOVE in the curve of your wrists--
the way you hold spoons like balance beams 
and the nightlights you ignite by
turning a loop of Orion's belt into
a tea light-- put the batteries back
into my neck-- i'm a moon shadow-- 
melt me in the glass of milk and somehow
boys always turn into chocolate-- 
find a way to melt into freckles--

i left myself a love poem this morning
in remembrance of all the times boys
have mistaken me for sugar or for the 
twisted stem of a plum--
i wrote it on a pink sticky note-- creased
on the forehead of my old blue locker-- 

in the eighth grade when i was convinced 
i was neither the cookie nor the glass of
milk i poured love letters to myself
in measuring cups of grapes and 
cheerios-- loved this body 
a whole 1/4 cup full-- 
dream and bake me a brownie pan--
i was meant for squares-- i was a corner piece--
i was the puckered lips of a cinnamon raisin bagel--

i'm trying to learn how to run away 
without boy poems-- because boy poems 
bleed milk like the fountain 
they made of Saint Catherine's neck
how dare she write love poems with someone else's tongue--
a oven full of books-- she spun as bobbin--

i ran away to the ledge of a window to
use the glass as a mirror and count
the stars leaving chocolate in my freckles-- wrote
the constellations into poetry--
i undress here and i know you could
watch if you wanted to but this isn't
a naked picture for you to frame 
in a glass of milk-- this isn't disposable
like the love poems you birthed in sugar
and cinnamon-- this isn't a spoon
this is my balance beam-- this is a love
poem written to the girl-body 
who collects nightlights 
out of fear of the dark and being 
drown in another glass of milk before bed--

i love you and iris raisins-- locker combination
to my mouth-- full me with loose paper--
fragments 'i love you written' in the margins 
of a blue spiral bound notebook--
swallow yourself quicker than a staircase
but as patient as the 1/4 measuring cup
dumped into the bowl--
it's morning now and time to empty the
back porch of love poems
written on rye bread with margarine-- disposable
sentences of stale popcorn another boy
pulled from the puckered bagel mouth

of a dead poet-- stop writing me words
i've already said and start leaving love
on my locker door-- twist my neck until
it opens into milk--

i'm not naked by a window mirror 
to prove something to a love poem boy
who tastes like a rice crispy treat-- quick 
and measured in squares-- 

i'm not naked by a window mirror
to remind you of something you could
of had or could have wanted if you had the 
patience to pour me into a bowl instead
of dunk my lungs deep in milk

i'm not naked to become another wilted
love poem you decide to melt in chocolate--

i'm naked to the window to prove
there's still places to elope with myself--
still corners of this body left for me
to leave sticky notes-- i love the
creature who is bold enough attempt
to fit the stars in a 1/4 of a cup-- 
build nightlights--
marry the milk glass--
laugh still balanced on a spoon--