I wake up in bed next to you. What would I say?

Post this in your LJ. Be ruthless. And anonymous.

Then, leave a comment on the LJ of a friend you think I should add to my friend’s list.

Should my LJ break up with your LJ? What about my BLT?

i woke up this morning wanting you
the way a kid wakes up hoping for a fever:
hoping it won’t be bad enough to hurt,
hoping it’s just hot enough to excuse
misbehavior.

thinking of a school kid stumbling out of the kitchen
reminds me: i’m supposed to be this hot
when i move. i’m supposed to be
a little delirious. i’m not supposed
to be able to speak well, or to make sense
the way i always do. this is why they call it fever.

you say i’m supposed to be in school? at work?
at home? if i’m sick i should have a flannel tongue and
a small-bore temper, not be smiling like this?
well, hellcakes on a plate: i’m here, i’m flushed and i’m shaking.
feed the cold, starve the fever? that’s the oldest wives’ tale.
this fever is already a starvation,
so let’s talk papaya and banana cream.
let’s talk mango and bathtub and red linen; and
this fever’s got a tongue for tango,
so let’s talk heels.
let’s talk boots.
let’s talk plum crazy and sheer toe.
let’s talk fast and loose,

and then let’s quit talking.

let’s be reasonable:
i’m not ready to go back to school.