Like the time for wanting, Ohio

Like the time for wanting, Ohio

 

Sometimes I am lying across my couch in Kansas

texting you: I want to do the things we used to do

like the time I come home and meet you in a hotel

after your sister’s wedding

where you say you miss me, how I never stay

in Ohio long enough and ask why

I stopped eating at Waffle House with you.

 

Mostly I say I wanted a different body

and mostly you say you’ll always want me

like even when you’re married, you’ll still fuck with me—

like the time you spend a week with me in Kansas

watching Star Trek and episodes of Cosmos

my body mostly in the smoke in your hands,

though you have a woman in Ohio you tell all ten years

we’ve been just friends, or too close for her to know the difference—

 

I like never having to birth your children

or really put up with you,

though I do want to ask

why you want me so much

but not at all

why you want me so much

 

or I want to ask why is your body

the body I always find in the City…

 

or nevermind the bullshit

this poem, or the answers

I am not a good woman

I still want you to do

what you used to do to me

authorphoto.jpg

Simone Savannah

Simone Savannah is the author of Like Kansas (Big Lucks 2018). She is a 2017 finalist for the Rita Dove Award in Poetry. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Ocean State Review, Big Lucks, GlitterMob, The Fem, Powder Keg, The Continental Review, and The Pierian. She holds a Phd in Creative Writing from the University of Kansas. She was born and raised in Columbus, Ohio.

Longing.

I linger in syllables 

The way she holds my name 

In her mouth 

Round 

and 

Lovelier than its ever 

sounded before 

I am 

Captivated by pauses 

Like 

warm breath on skin 

Wriggle to find the edge of it

to ride

Bite knuckles

To catch my tongue

Seeking reprieve from the spell

But just deeper.

Merciless 

Still.