Written: November 2008
Disclaimer: I doubt neither Frank W. Dixon nor Carolyn Keene (imaginary though they were) was in the habit of writing poems about Frank and Nancy.
Author's Note: Done for a creative Writing course. It's just vague enough to work.
Dedication: To JC, for giving me a couple ideas even though you're a jerk.
Homicide Detectives
The stubble across my shoulder as we jetski
Is more alluring than your arms clinging to my waist
The noise in the back of your throat at my acceleration
Is more rewarding than when you praise me to my face
Your coat smells like your mom's gingerbread cupboards
But only when I'm wearing it
Your car always smells like you just showered in it
Even though there's melted chocolate in the backseat
When your hair looks blue under the streetlights
I always want to see if you still have dandruff
When you fix something expensive and tiny
You're afraid to ask (but do) if you can borrow my steady hands
You hate shaving but you're an expert
And you only have a clean face when we dine in
You love dancing and you have just one left foot
But you'll dance for only me
All the stars cold and hidden behind our breaths
Choose one and pull it down, I say, and you pull me into you
Your mittens Brillo-pad against my cheeks
Cold lips smiling when they touch mine
I wish you could be here just when you wanted
When there's not always a corpse for a third wheel