Poet

 You asked me where I live.

I said I live in someone's garage behind a cat's ear.

I live inside a book where the pages smell of furniture polish.

I live at the edges of a memory of your aunt's house years ago.

I live on the surface of the sun and the appliances keep blowing up.

How about you?

You made a weird face and walked away curling your lip.

So, I answered for you.

You live in a graveyard and lick the frost off tombstones.

You live in a dog's mouth and bite the postman to taste blood.

You live in a penny on the train track and kiss the wheelsets.

You live in an auctioneer's gavel and catalog the successful bids. 

I say these things at your back. You're cute when you flinch.

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An almost total reworking of a poem from 2017.