Sometimes, in the earlier months she
would shiver uncontrollably and throw her head forwards
noodly mousy hair spilling over her brow
a little shock of no control which she quite enjoys
she will return home and make a frozen pizza
muttering a little prayer for her softening waistline

and sometimes i wish i was her
softening and all
for the sake of smooth legs and smooth skin
smooth ways of thinking
a sense of which notes to sing

in the end, i go to bed and smooth the covers
by stretching my feet to the corners of the bed
and spread my arms, masquerading rectangular
she and i, we have some things in common
we both like our little boxes, and when the lights are off,
the darkness lobs a hunger bomb behind our eyes.

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