DrywallA Poem by jenbem
I’ve pressed myself up to
the drywall between us.
My cheeks and palms and breasts,
hoping my desires will seep
through and send a sign,
“APARTMENT J IS IN LOVE”
or something like that.
It can’t be that thick,
the drywall,
because I can always hear the sounds
of you through it
(I love it when
you think no one is listening
and you sing along to Shania Twain.
Don’t worry, I love your baritone)
I’ve thought of knocking on your door
in my bathrobe
and asking for a cup of sugar
or an afternoon of sex.
But I thought,
who needs sugar in a bathrobe?
And, what would happen if you said yes?
Would we knock down the
Drywall?
Then what would I hang my pictures on?
© 2008 jenbemReviews
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7 Reviews Added on February 6, 2008 AuthorjenbemBaltimore, MDAboutI'm a senior English major at Towson University. I am also the managing editor of Towson's Columbia Scholatic Press silver circle winning literary magazine, Grub Street. I am the captain of the colorg.. more..Writing
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