Bird Moon

I can’t find
my body
in the rubble
of memory

Most nights
I smoke bongs alone
wanting
for the full moon
thinking about
my childhood

I thought I loved
a werewolf-like man

Equally grotesque
and fuckable
born in 1982

Sometimes
I think I hear
the birds that lived
in the chimney
of his room

Their
wet white shit
always 
on the bed

I am most happy
when the air
is thick with jasmine

I am a nicer adult
than I was little girl