when we leave the house to talk outside

the slickest rows i ever saw
were your two full eye-brows
and your behind,
the way you pressed your head into the cold
cement steps. the words you used to
talk about yourself, the fat that fell with them.
us pair who took a subway into
each other, another part of town
and weighted on our stories of sentiment and flavor.
for all that ferocity it was worth
another dumping ground,
new damp spots for affection. devotion and the
gardening of our socially amended beliefs came later,
hoeing them, fingering their leaves,
cleaning the weeds for effect.
it was supposed to be a summer for free,
a longtime choice of personally and personality
in the Association of Being Outdoors.
you wanted to be watered, saturated in a stalk and stillness,
in the main ways women like to change shape.
when i walked up on my own porch
and placed some spotted thoughts in pots
you saw how sad, the leaves were already crumpling,
how all our pretty flowers fell brown.