More than it Should
I don’t remember the extra coat.
I can’t put a name to the
face
that layers like Egyptian queens.
Too thick, too much,
too often
lounging in comfort, lavished with delicacies
that soften,
ripen,
destroy.
I don’t want to remember the clothes.
I don’t want to feel the roll of waves.
I can’t stand
the grip
that holds more than it should.
