The Sun was Driving Hot nails Through our Underwear: A poem for you

This poem is dedicated to you:
Whoever you are

I am going to try and blog more this year and part of that will be poetry.

So here's the first:

The Sun Was Driving Hot Nails Through Our Underwear

The sun was driving hot nails through our underwear
And we laughed at the thought of
Crying pillows over the beds on our cheeks.

Singing songs of suffering we drank joy like juice
Gyrating the eyes of brilliance
Till you shook like a candle and burned wax down your ear lobes like
cool water

and it—
felt good.
The distances in your eyes is like mars
Multiplying microcosms of moths
Fluttering loneliness like
Plates of Mr. butterscotch
Looking for Mrs. Butterscotch.
Who’s out cheating on him

The Pilates you do in the morning is the
Pitch perfect desperation
Of a middle aged housewife.
And like vases
The vultures circle and grow
As transparent trapeze artists.

Trapping our insides
Suffering at dawn
The circus is all we know

Till the robin rings
I’ll sit in the rocking chair
Plotting his death
And youll know it when you see it

The orange breast
With a clue knife.