i. after Jessie J’s “Domino”

She grabs my hips and makes me forget–what heartache is;

For fuck’s sake, I’m lifting the scab of her on me without regret.

Every night sleeping warm in her bed in her platonic grip,

I forget and refract malaise’s script and its possible entrapments.

In the car, she pretends to kiss me more than once.

Soaring dunce–rushing to the front lines of her every defense,

Ensuring nothing weakened nor amiss. 

She centers at all my lore, both my binary stars thus.

Everything going lustful violet as I’m caught fantasizing about her lips.

Wise as long as nothing’s let slip–riotous charade, no trouble.

All hot in our foregoing the violent apocalypse,

instead winging and unknowingly wild until the love’s fraught. It trips.

ii. after Gym Class Heroes’ “Stereo Hearts”

I want to make a grand gesture for you:

Interrupt your politics lecture during the semester review,

Get your stage name done in red ink tattoo,

Make love and the tabloids in a backstage rendezvous.

Will you do the same for me?

Or will you leave me gutted when I hoped to be gutsy,

Create an outcast of my heart and be the skeleton key,

Be the hauntings on our hometown’s marquee?

The truth is that you are neither an enemy nor a friend.

It just cuts me down that you’re not here on the weekends,

That you sit passively on my cracked-up dead ends.

And still I can’t bear to delete the messages you send.

iii. after P!nk’s “Blow Me (One Last Kiss)”

I’m trying not to apologize just to get you to, too. It doesn’t work

and this is just a preview. You’re a Scorpio and I’m not your beau.

The love in us is aging and I don’t see how we can stop: engaging

and caging ourselves to this shitty day. What can I say. You’re not gay.

And this is just the rupture not your eschaton or the fucking rapture.

I still can’t meet you for supper; I can’t pick up your calls today;

I’m too busy not thinking about your body as Renaissance sculpture.