here, i am a bull in a china shoppe. 
i am an asshole, because
i took a bite out of every
Godiva chocolate. 

Her smile is fashioned from porcelain,
though She is nothing like a doll.
She sifts shards, 

rebuilds its curvature every morning.
solemn architect, molding soft. as if 
there are no earthquakes here.

and i am sorry, but also very busy
missing your knees and ankles this morning,
and sorting my manic 
into boxes.

there is cardboard everywhere.
little cities spreading anthills on the hardwood.
we are expanding, and thus must first
pack away our nothings, our black holes.

(i worry
they still will swallow us.)

we are building. and i am wanting your
hip bones, and She is wanting for chocolate,
and tomorrow we unpack the china closet,
and maybe it’s not my fault, but surely

i’ve grown horns since the last time
i lived here.