You’ve said soon
A thousand times it doesn’t
Make me miss you any less
It doesn’t manifest in ether The smell of you either I miss
That scent like flowers
But manly in a way
That makes me laugh stop
Making me laugh I seriously I do
Miss you
I want to say
Your tender touch but I
Don’t want to sound stupid and
I want to say your rough touches too
But I’m too mad to be
Dirty with you
Right now anyway the way
You put a dob of
Cream cheese frosting on
The tip of my nose that time and
Licked it off I hated that
My nose smelled like spit
For what seemed like weeks it
Wasn’t funny to anyone but you
I miss that too.
-M.
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Published by M. Ashley
I am an essayist and poet. My work has been rejected by some of the finest journals in America. Fortunately, it also gets accepted from time to time and has appeared in equally fine journals such as Word Riot, Inlandia, Brew City Magazine, and SageWoman, among others.. In 2002, I won the Academy of American Poets Prize for Vanderbilt University.
For no good reason, I possess an unnecessarily dark humor which is why being third generation California Inland Empirian delights me so. My gods are weird. I once won $350 for writing a smartassed essay on “why the wise use of water is important in my daily life”. I am undoubtedly the Greek god Hermes’ special snowflake. I’m pretty sure I got into college via a series of fortuitous clerical errors.
When I had to grow up and get a real job, I decided against it and stayed a writer. I have worked many odd—and I mean odd—jobs to support my habit: PR writer for country music hopefuls, resume massager, WalMart fitting room attendant and switchboard operator, and telephone psychic, just to name a few.
I am also albino. That's why my psychic gifts are so strong. I traded in my pigment for magical foresight, because that's how it works. It gets all technical. Trust me. That's totally how it works.
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M. N. Ashley 