perhaps
love is a star
shining brightest
burning hottest
just before it dies

I have not yet named the spider
and I don’t yet know its gender
[if spiders have gender]
but for the sake of argument
He
moved in to my bedroom
two nights ago
And began weaving a web
near my pillow
He clung audaciously
to the purple gauze
that canopies my king size

I thought of killing him
or moving him away
from where I sleep
But his presence
in a bed so often empty
was a comfort

I talked to him
He may have seen me giggle
or let a little moan escape

And even though two mornings
in a row I wake bitten
I will let him stay
I am tired
of sleeping alone

[don't let the line breaks fool you -- this is not a poem....yet]

Please won’t you
hook your fingers
through my ribs and
drag me

closer. I want you
just like that.

cut

lovely knife the wrist
little blood of sharp paper
red crescent to spell

twenty-two

Teeth rip through
bright pink gums, swollen
Wisdom hurts

I want to sleep with
you, but I don’t want
to have slept with you.

Clearly, I am like ten poems behind. Birthdays are bad for my creative process.