where it all goes

this durk marky green algaeic sadness
we keep realizing we are swimming in
and somehow we stuff it away somewhere
like we have vistors coming for dinner
and we pile it all up in a closet
knowing if anyone opened the door
we would all be flooded
drowning and struggling to reach a door handle
or window to open up
and let it all flow out into the yard
where the neighbors could all see us
flopping around gasping for air

how do we find so much space for it
and where do we put it?
is it all going into one of those fancy garbage bags
the force flex kind that catches a piano
falling from a building in the tv ad
and the bag just keeps getting bigger
and we just keep stuffing away
catching more and more pianos
always knowing it all has to come out someday

if we can just get to the point
where we feel good enough
and close enough
and undistracted enough
that my teeth can gently find the skin of your neck
and my fingers can sink into your tangle of curly hair
and you can melt into my arms
and you can twist your wiry legs around me
and you can scare the dog off into the other room
with those perfect little sounds you make
and 11 minutes later
everything we have shoved back inside
everything we have pushed down over the last few months
every promise we made to ourselves
to set some time aside to break down some time when we were alone
it can all come back out in the end
filtered so perfectly through both of our eyes