What desire was teased
that morning, the pairing
of backaches & amphetamines
left me rocking under sweaty sheets
wide-eyed, the numbers on the clock
passed the Devil’s hour to your time.
You call on me as magpies call each other
after sunrise.
What desire was teased
that drove my frail, bleeding body
with its bloodshot eyes
onto the roads,
passing yards of pacing possums
to your Beaver Lake home.
What desire brought a comfortable
smile to my lips as I watched you
pour Bud Light in wine glasses
and call yourself fancy?
The chrome half-moons
under your eyes grow darker,
layered, like nightfall.
The wrinkles on your
forehead are drawn on now,
lucid, in the unwelcome light
that graces through these
basement windows.
You beckon me to the bathroom
where fresh snow awaits.
I wonder why I follow you,
watch you take in too much--
clear the snow from the countertop,
then we attack each other,
we are leopards
on your red velvet couch
only for a minute--
your heavy eyes close
your body gives a final shrug.
I carry the old man to bed,
place cold water on his lips
and lay with him,
pretending to sleep as
his bones rest on my soft skin.
A sad danger always lingers behind callithumpian ways,
[my maternal instinct needs a new outlet.]