Author: Brian James Dawson

Brian James Dawson lives in Livermore, California. He is the author of "The War on Unicorns". He can be found on Twitter and Tumblr.

Confessional Paper # 145

Victoria Peak   frontier log cabin
Vogelzang Defender   cornbread mornings
breakfast nook table   brown haired   artic eyed
fat limbs    little girl     playing on a Persian rug
my boots on    you reading   chop wood
all morning    wash dishes by hand
typewriter on TV dinner stand
make love in the bathroom
take naps    four in the bed
kiss    kiss on frosted trails
on the porch    So much fire    wine
and love    Cook dinner as a unit   a team
old records sing     burning candles    open windows
dance    slow and fast   eat fruit out of wood bowls
Touch    always touching    everyone gets a hug
a real hug    a kiss on the cheek    strangers in town
Wave at everyone who makes eye contact
Say ma’am and yes Sir   Make love on top of tables
on floors    against walls    in cars    on boats
in summer water   on the spring trail
front door open    arms wide and welcoming
Make it a home

Parking Garage

If it wasn’t for your slender fingers sliding over my breasts
or the stick shift and our eventual arrest—

I’d be on a plane to Boston to become a poet.
Ending up a secretary, a bitter waitress, and a complete mess.

I’d post pictures of myself wearing white button up shirts left behind by lovers,
drinking red wine with dirty feet. I’d carry a bad British accent. Do yoga in the park in pearls. Turn everything into a run on sentence.
Get bored.
Lonely.
Quick.

It would only be a matter of time before I Find Jesus, self-control
and sobriety. I’d go the whole nine,
diets, gym memberships, serial monogamy, watercolor paintings,
visiting the south of Spain,
overdraft protection.

If it wasn’t for your hands
I’d be a cliché on a plane.