Improv 3-4, Week 12

Improv 3

Which is Why I Told You to Leave

In middle school, newly acquainted with the treasures
ofpuberty continuously swelling along my chest, I though
I would take care of my cousin's boy problem,
and putting on my tightest shirt, I pressed myself of his door post,
hip riding its wood like the juke joint singer in the Color Purple.
He was Hispanic, his name---Vladmir, and as he watched me
the contours of his shorts bloomed like marigolds.
Another night, huddled in dark, his tongue popped like Prosecco
against my teeth as he rolled words like girlfriend against gravel,
across the fence post. This is how love starts, I decided.
Hard as a tulip bulb, waiting to pierce the brush
and all that sexy hubbub that comes with growing
and flaunting one's leaves to the north wind, though, like you
a flower can never brave the winter.

Improv 4 (loose move to iambic)

Which is Why I Told You to Leave

In middle school, newly acquainted to the jewels
of puberty chiseled along my chest,
I thought I'd take my cousin's boy problem--
put on my tightest shirt and pressed myself
against his door, hip riding wood like House.
Hispanic, Vladmir watched, while contours bloomed
like marigolds inside his shorts. One night
we dressed in dark. Our tongues rolled like merlot.
Love starts this way, I knew, all packed and hard
as tulip bulbs, waiting to pierce the brush
and all that sexy hubub that comes with growth
and flaunting one's own leaves to wind. Although,
like you, a flower never braves the snow.