This was a first draft to a mopey sonnet. It's actually much better than the finished product. This one's for you C.

 

Oh no you don’t. Not on my time, not in this house. Not in front of the cat. I have holdings, unsightly stains on my underwear, lumps of bread in my throat. And what I believed—well, I believed it. I said yes the bed, the bruise on my arm, yes democratically. What did I, Oh God and what was the back room, in the freezing cold. I think off-hand. Oh God. There too. And shimmery. mouthed, for Christ’s sake, that blue shirt. Nothing like it. Nipples, light. Chunks of skin, this, never on the walls, the sides, into leftover towels. Like two pieces of glass mouthing it. This heat, that heat, you were thinking. At you coming over, coming in. My never chest too much I haven’t had.