Breathing Karen

Alejandro Lucero | Poetry

Razor blades gliding over your legs.
Daydreaming, deep in limerence
you rouge your cheeks in a frenzied fard
and smooth down the aqua blue blouse decorated by fringe.

I am your suspect.

Most likely to own a swollen

ego. Swollen
chest, swelled by pride. Yet, my legs
are like stretched bands of rubber about to snap. I suspect

I am in limerence,
as well. I yearn to move the light brown fringe
from the face you fard,

that you so carefully fard.
Your lips swollen
as if pierced by the injection of a fringe

doctor, using fat from your ass and legs.
a doctor who possess feelings of limerence

for no one, I suspect.

Just medicine and money, I suspect.
I guess that he must fard
himself, a mask of limerence
protecting a heart never swollen.
Meanwhile, you pose with crossed legs
one over the other naturally as threads from the fringe

of a hand sewn rug, while I stand on the fringe

of a window sill stalking my suspect,
fawning over your denim wrapped legs
and the profile you fard

perfectly, with my eyes swollen

by tears of limerence

not mutually felt. Limerence-
I hold onto by the single last fringe
of an old dying sweater, unraveling a memory now swollen

from the small speck it truly once was. I battle suspect 

thoughts of defiling your fard
face and impurely parting your bare legs.

Can we feel limerence for each other without a suspect of doubt?

May I break through the fringe of your fard exterior?
Will you hold my swollen body locking me to yours with legs of chain?