i'm still aching for nashville
where newlyweds make love with the curtains open
and no one's ever even heard of iggy pop.

and i'll feed you sour grapes
'til the juice runs down your chin
and douses the sheets
we burned in drunken ecstacy.

we burned, and i never woke.
and you still wear the scars on your thighs.
and i can't stop picking scabs.

key lime pie and potpourri
sometimes ignite cornfields
concealed by the corn
so tall now it blocks the cool rain.

slap me. smack me. bite me. please.
just make me feel again.