rabbit-light:

Fifteen minutes after swallowing my heart,
I flip on the lamp and search the index
of first lines. The empty grocery cart
is beginning to roll comes closest
to what I mean to say, but seems stuffy.
I have described barking for no reason
and kissing you elsewhere. My heart
is re-swallowed—I don’t think I can say it
any better than Mary Ruefle. Your walnut eyes
want a romance from me, so I open my mouth.
And when I do, you bite my stomach.
Dust on the lampshade shuffles.
A line gets crossed out.

Nate Logan