mature man
holding his nose
to life
desires young woman
who
is indifferent to
oranges
and longs for those
days
before umbrellas

bleached
beneath
a 10 kilowatt
moon
anticipating
geometry
the smell
of soap
that same
instant
calling into
question
bisexuality
without flesh
or
the vibration
of blood

When withdrawn, I can     only be myself.
When I am with you,     I am something more.

And I can blame gravity and fate for falling in love, or endlessly compare you to the moon and the stars; or I can just admit that there's something in you that tells me you're my half - maybe it's the way you fix your hair, or the way you bat your eyes, or the way you walk or the way you speak, or even the way you let me have the last piece of fries.