grape juice and mud puddles

you're my favorite kind of natural disaster --
famous for horizontal rain and
forcing palm trees into death arches.

(are you proud of what you've done to me
or do you want to come back for one more
crushing tidal wave?)

=

you're my favorite kind of chipped china --
stone-cold beneath writhing flower wreaths
and scratched by forks, but still delicate.

(maybe you wouldn't be broken if
i'd left you in the cabinet like they told me to.)

=

you're my favorite kind of grape juice stain --
a permanent ellipse of watered-down fruit
in the fibers of my best shirt.

(i wear you like a badge of honor
even though you were a mistake.)

=

you're my favorite kind of nosebleed --
a brilliant shade of gushing crimson
and dramatic enough to make me light-headed.

(you sent me straight to the bottom of
the tissue box because you just.  wouldn't.  stop.)

=

you're my favorite kind of mud puddle --
mysterious, yet hopelessly shallow,
and worthy of a good yellow-boot splash.

(you soaked me to the bones and now
i'm damp to the very marrow.)

=

but after everything,
you might be surprised to know
that you are my favorite kind of memory --
a nagging thought that i'll soon forget.

(sometimes it's a blessing that
we can't relive the past.)