I love you
for the 2nd
of December
when you were
naked and sweating
into the couch cushions
with your breasts out
and the strep in
your throat
and you asked
for a piece
of pumpkin pie
with Cool Whip.
I love you
like dust
from the dog
shaken off
in the sunlight
bleeding
through the window
on that Thursday afternoon.
Matt Carmichael lives and writes in Chicago, Illinois. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Alaska Quarterly, the Adirondack Review, and Bartleby Snopes, among other places.