Here we go. I was thinking about French existentialism human communication when I was writing it, and after I re-read it, I thought, “Oh boy”. I emailed it to a friend hoping she would deny any connection of this poem to the sex industry but she wrote back “Definitely a vibrator”. I was all, “No it’s not”. She was, like, “Yes it is”. And I was, like: “Shut up”. Shut up, you hear me? I have eyes, I can read. But it really was not about that.
I am an undercover tsunami
Under the cover of creme-brulee
Tough luck
My softness is violent
Like a helpless elephant with a moon of hearts
A blazing magical wand
Is attached to my pillows on the inside
It’s buzzing
It’s talking to me every day
And at night even louder
But I only show the tsunami
Cushioned by waiting
fuck
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