Tea Leaves
He told me he could interpret my sexuality with tea leaves, with macho candy drops on the side with a pile of crackers and a bottle full of urine headed out through hamburger deserts. We were on our way to the drip. The drip-drop hip-hop handicap candy land. We hoped the sugar would dissolve our pain and leave it melted in a puddle on the floor. But we had doubts. Was pain sugar soluble? Slack back the pills and wipe your face in hand, mirror on the skin, microscope of gris. Makes me wonder if I'll ever get the dust off my boots before you cum on my face. Fragment my culture before you put me in prison. But don't forget to write me letters. I'll read them when I get a chance, or I'll fold them in my underwear or I'll stitch them into clothes, put them on a doll and hug it to me from far away to draw you back again.
