I think of you, my sweet Wanda,
as I part the earth for
this 25-year old miscreant.
My Wanda has always been small
and large and a
controlling sociopath, but
we permit her indifference
so long as her evergreen eyes
blow my dust away.
My one, my friend
when I stopped feeling
nothing,
warmer than easiness,
hair of a lesbian,
Wanda.
The name from a sensitive
8 year-old to a five-week old
from his grandmother
before the allergic head of household
conferred, but he loved the son
in ways immeasurable to admit.
Wanda,
I, the son, will love you more than
unconditionality and
without communication of
two outweighed
hearts collapsing.
