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❚ poetry ⚑ Moscow

raised expectations

I allow myself some raised expectations, chocolate chip cookies for the pride,
I shouldn’t.
Dancing late at night alone anticipating,
joyful moments. I recite.
words I could have said,
I borrow my exact friends, and those imaginary,
some friends to be, I hope,
and others, as it turns out…

I rub my lips into the pillowcase at the nightfall,
I wake up when it’s dark,
deciding if I’m thirsty,
indicted flipping the phone.
Excitement sits on my bedside in a perceptive disguise,
fermenting decay of my dreams,
While I’m distilling sweat. My head does calculus of instances.
My pelvic griddle combs enactment of eternal verities.

I wish I could just leave the exemplifying principles to dreaming,
exhibit images as evocative allegories,
and turn them into stories,
transmute expectation into a pasteurised expression,
of an innate impulse.

linked mentions for "raised expectations":
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