LIKE BUBBLE WRAP

I’m basically tired of the way your face sits on your neck, on your shoulders, how you hold your
eyes too tight. I feel like bubble wrap. Like I can protect you or burst your bubble. Your lips
are small like credit cards and I wish you’d pay me in compliments instead of gifts. Replace
gifts with nothing and that’s reality. Sometimes I pretend I’m a scuba diver. The sea is your
brain and I discovered the Loch Ness monster that is your mother. True or false—she was never
there at dinner time? I’d like to see you but maybe that’s not the best idea, as I can’t seem to
put the Heineken down. Let’s meet at a bar. You can be my Heineken; I’ll put your head in my
mouth and suck you dry. I tried to be a little less sexual though I couldn't help but notice the
lacey red lingerie of your brain. The way it hugs your cerebellum makes my skin feel light, feel
warm. I want to pull it close, trace it with my tongue, and taste every thought until I've had my
fill. I’ll place it in the cupboard, save it until morning. I’ll take it and you in my coffee. I’ll take
you with cream. I’ll take you to the pawn shop and get a diamond ring instead because you’re
mad at me again.

Azia DuPont resides in Northern Iowa with her husband, two and a half children, and their two cats. You can find her on Twitter @aziadupont.