Cassandra Dallett, 7/12

Friday Night

I dreamt you left,
me alone
and happy
breath, a room
I could miss you in
made me want to love again
In real life I hit you with my old frying pan
threw a chair
and pulled a knife
threatened your sad
and drunken life.
.
.
Wish I Was Black
..
.
smooth and smart as
a crow.
Crow’s have funerals
you know,
a moment of silence
in a winged black tree.
 .
.
Fists
.
reminded me of love
even before I knew about the sex act
when I can’t push you to violence
 I am limp
as the sheet
clinging to the mattress
I want to feel
real
as penetration
and punches
Things that take
my breath away.
.
.
 Body Parts
.
 I want to perform an autopsy
find that part of you
that still loves me
fuck with your head
if I had a dick I’d
stick it in your ear
loosen uptight thoughts
light a match
watch flame lick you
like I used to
turn you to ash
walk through
leave muddy tracks.
.
How do you like your coffee?”
she asks.
“Insanely sweet and creamy”
I reply,
hoping that someone
will describe me this way
soon.
.
.
I like beginnings
.
.
and endings
the middle useless
endless
fluff to wade through
marsh mellow sticky
weighted
first kisses
first entries
clean bed sheets
clocking out
coming home
I say
just leave me
the end.
.
Cassandra Dallett lives in Oakland, CA. When she is not working as a Nurse Aid she writes poetry.
Cassandra has published in Hip Mama, The Chiron Review, Bleed Me A River, Ascent Aspirations, Criminal Class Review, Nibble, among others. 
Promote. Poetry.
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