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Everytime I ovulate, I think of strange men *** me
The customer with the paint splattered pants, leans in with all of his strength
Just enough for our pheromones to mingle and my knees buckle
A biological confidant he must be. He has the handle on the rope tied around my hips
But not my love. Not the man with whom November marks four years
How could that be a good sign?
Strange to lay credit to emotions felt at a time when hormones are so large and outside me they make up an ocean
And I'm a rickety little boat and the mercy of the swells
But that is what we do, isn't it?
Drunken epiphanies. Drug induced awareness
And it is like a drug. I'm at work and a beautiful family comes in with their new baby girl
Her eye catches mine and I can't see my face. My throat catches
I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry.
Happestance I wait a hour too long to eat and the world turns gray, loses meaning
I find muself curled, leaning against my car, crying because my shoe is untied
Moodwings are illusions and yet they feel more real then the days that pass outside them
That week long stretch that I am especially fertile and emotional in the most cliche of ways
Strong and weak and tired and ready to fight you on this, which seems so important
But it is trivial. I know. I'm silly. I'm sorry. I'm trying not to hate you though.
And yet sometimes you repulse me. So masculine those few times you reach anger.
Such a little boy when tired. cranky
I miss how I feel when biologically its time.
Yes. No. No, I know, I wouldn't want a baby. I'm not thirty. I'm not stable. Not ready. Not ready
This is the time for being selfish. Not worrying about anyone else.
But I do. Don't I? I worry about you.
And yet, when I ovulate, I don't mind
*** full of fantasy of other men. Delicious women
The sensation of their touch so close, its like a vivid dream
I long for the philosophical conversations of last fall. Walking half drunk with my sister
She all blissed out from her slient intrigue. A new outlook on sensation. Our youth. Where we fit in the world
It was all about letting go, riding the wave. And yet, even as we smoked I felt myself trying to hold on to each passing moment
Her expression. That beautiful face. The feel of my feet on the pavement
To ride the wave nice, moment offers something.
The warmth of the sune on th page as I write this
The feel of the mircophone in my hand as nerves shake it.
There will be a time when pregnancy is good news. There will be orgasms reached and carried thinking of you. And only of you.
And our bodies in this moment. Here and now. And I don't hate you now.
[Applause]