5 Notes on not love organ by Nicholas Anderson

I. Now that I am looking at you I will take an apology letter to the
pool house towel boy. I will tell him I regret striking his jaw when he
compared your very essence to that of an octopus. This is because I’ve
slowly realized you have a knack for wrapping your arms around me
and blinding me with jet-black ink when you are nervous.

 
II. I would ask you to bear with me once again this morning, but I am
now confident in the idea that there is more time than the evil wants
me to believe there is. I guess you stop clock hands.

 
III. Your words mean just as much when the sun is up as they do at night.
Trust me, that is a compliment.

 
IV. Although I have recently attempted, I cannot fathom the tireless green
you wear in your skull. My chest has never grasped so much deafening
epinephrine in all of its days.

 
V. You look stunning in any blanket.

 


Nicholas Anderson is currently a writing student at the University of Denver. Originally from Chicago, he writes poetry to get some of the crazy out of his head. His work can be seen in Burningword Literary Journal.