Wifetime visions
A specter wearing the skin of my mother
A woman who knows better
Stands in my bedroom doorway
Fingers my naked bed frame
I can feel her seething
Women and beds once wore skirts
Concealing bodies ripe and bearing
The best astronauts have the right stuff
Viscera which if possessed I would shove
Between my mattress and my box spring
The specter wearing the skin of an artist
(The art of wanting what one is meant to)
You have nothing to hide
You have nothing I’d want
Proxy love
What is it to want to be nourished?
I desire chalky liquids in foggy crystal
Spoon-fed to my cracked mouth dry sluggish tongue
Fine layer of sweat chills a paper dry hand
Brushes my hair the satisfied haze of life’s brief hiatus
To take shelter as if swaddled a febrile nest
I want to get sicker mommy anything for you
Marlboro Reds
The truth about multitudes is they’re not all likable
Midwest stock in you and many men
He can’t escape your karmic debt
He learned quickly how to choke me
The joy- pain spectrum: one long orgasm
Small-town actor home-grown man
Wish I was his toothpick
Black sap in his mouth longing to dribble
He’s so sweet and mama he has land
Claire Rychlewski is a writer living in Chicago. Her work has appeared in SARKA, The Portland Review, blush lit, witch craft magazine and Hot Pink Mag, among other publications. Her chapbook, BORN TO ROT, was published in 2022 by Bottlecap Press.