Curious

Curious

is she up there with you?
lips as red as the tulips,
the poppies, the roses,
whatever flora
be your pleasure?

is she a thorn in your tongue?
critiquing your eyelash wisps
of poetry,
scrutinizing each freckle,
pasting flaw markers
where they don’t belong?

I ask the sky many questions
and the wind nods back,
whispering through the jacaranda trees,
telling me not to worry

I see her twirling a curl
of yours in the starlight,
condescendingly,
and I admire her brilliance,

but I still long to break
that bony reprimand;
I drink too much
to cure my jealousy
of ghost women
and how I’m still
stuck here
on arid land

(March 1, 2019)