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Nine And A Half
Nine And A Half
weeks
clock stops I dangle.
This is where I get off.
Infatuation blooms only for a season.
Happens every time, despite the lover.
Differences same nesses
chest hairs-tongues-lips.
The dream explodes.
I fill it helium high with
hysterical hope.
Then I sit on it and wait
for my weight
to press the air out.
To leave us mangled party pieces.
Pastel ribbons follow us
down.
Cassandra Dallett lives in Oakland, CA. She is currently unemployed, a sometime student,
and a full time mama. She writes poetry and short stories of memoir. Cassandra has published
in Cherry Bleeds, Street Spirit, Opium Poetry2.0, The Mylvia Street Journal, and The Beat
Museum of San Francisco.
Email: Cassandra Dallett
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