To Big D, in the Key of Cake

I want a Cake-song-like-poem,
one that burns my body
like your Arizona eyes.

Free, yet in complete anguish,
with the drama allowed only in young adults,
or in divorcees,
or when you are a poet, or a painter—
a graphic designer will do, too.

I want to translate the anonymity
I felt in your Mustang,
or the blush my body held
in my never-to-be-husband’s arms.

It’s the memory
of warm, quiet smoke
curling in front of our house.

I won’t be near those
never again in my life.

South Mountain is just blurry.
Downtown Tempe and its river lights
slip behind my heels—
except for the wind while driving,
and the radio telling me
about a fast car.

I’m just a very good scorpio
never really sure
about the outcomes
or the incomes,

but—

All I know is,
I need a Cake-song-like-poem
to make my body burn.