Gosh, haven't written one of these in a while!

And by these, I mean poem.

And by poem, I mean not my best, but one nonetheless.

STILL LIFE
A nail chewed to a torpid worm.
It dangles off my finger, frozen in air,
and I’ll just let it hang just like you let me.
The smiles from our pictures fade.
You never wanted me twisted next to you
in your sheets. The peachy limbs were not symbols of love,
just lustful images, like the ones in the magazines
you hide under your bed with a lumpy smile.
You would never admit that’s all you needed—
The shadow of a breast, the rub of a thigh,
The sighing in and out of lips and opened smiles
in October air. It was at best an image to you.
A still life painting, like apples and grapes
embraced by a bowl. You were the sun streaming light
upon me, and I was the woman standing with a parasol,
chin tilted upward, arrested by curls,
Wanting to grow.