Rosalie Morris
poem, relationships
poem, relationships
Green Apple Soap
I had a dream last night
and it fit me like a glove.
We were standing in the kitchen,
you and me,
and the fridge was open and then
you slipped your thumbs under my belt loops
in the way that you do
and you pulled
me to you,
the way you do.
And you kissed me, but not
the way you do.
The world got warm and I got lost
and a cold wave crashed
through the door smelling like
green apple soap
but it didn’t sting my eyes.
And then it was gone, and you were
gone
and I was just relieved
that the fridge door was finally
closed.