I'm Not Bitter
by Jennifer Poteet

    I want you in the backseat of a car
    all flushed and open
    but we won't talk about that.
    I would love
    to bed you
    in daylight,
    your supposed
    fears lofted by the wind
    like dandelion fuzz--
    but
    why don't we
    just sit here, instead,
    in this stale room
    that stinks of cigarettes
    and my lurid desires
    and discuss Coleridge, Keats
    and your mother
    burying the obvious
    in dusty tombs?






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