Green Grass

Don't ask me to stay, and don't tell me to leave. I'm paralyzed under the weight
of your indecision; flowers are blooming in the grassy wet field of my left thigh
and the plans I've never had the courage to follow through with thud dully
with my heartbeat against the insides of my eyelids.
As much as our culture is saturated with exquisite pains, from
the sacred to the profane and their combination, I still shy away
from the heavy stuff. Let's go out for a walk, let's get away
for just an hour. Baby, let's lie on the ground
and let the bugs eat us; let's get a dead skin spa treatment.
I'm still in love with you.