dark bars
no light in sight
but the light that emanates from your throat.
it cascades through the barren landscape of this rough and worn city.
there’s nothing here for us,
you say,
as we hail a taxi cab heavily into the night
your breath smells like it longs to feel something tonight.
and I respond with a grasping hold on your thigh.
where else can we go? I ask,
as I truly do not know.
your slurs say as you point,
not here,
but your eyes said,
**right ******* here
and
right ******* now.**
my hand slides up your thigh.
pant, pant.
you gaze out the window,
and I watch how the streetlights glance at you from the parks and alleys.
suddenly, you call to the cabby
here! this is it!
and the brakes nearly shake me out of the reverie we’ve created.
your car door is already open by the time I’ve unhooked my seatbelt and paid the man.
the night is so dark,
I can only see the bottom of your
expensive shoes and
your toothy grin
like a child who’s found
his
missing
piece.
what’s so significant about this bench? I ask,
you are positively fondling it in joy.
I turn around to see if the cabby
has in fact left me for dead here;
indeed, it’s just you and I for
the
Night.
the echoes of traffic and of the moonbeams
ringing in my ears and your calling further into the park
something akin to
I’ve found the one for whom my heart sings
though the word “sings”
sounds more like
sinks
deep in this wooded night.
my mouth gapes open as I look above to see
many moths aflutter on rooftops
engaging in perilous flight
I stop to wonder if any of them
must long for something more
than a swift battle with the night
and light--
as I look back down,
I see that you have begun walking back toward me.
what’s the deal with this park bench?
I yell to you.
you’d never understand,
you say.
what a pain that is to hear.
**what part of
this euphonious spider's web
has ever made you think
I’d not understand?**
suddenly defensive I sweep off into the night
wait,
you call,
but I am too far gone.
-----
I wrestle in my coat pockets for a call home and find
a pen wedged within its bowels.
headlights flicker on its metal surface as I look both ways before crossing,
but step out instead--
a taxi swerves to stop but I
find myself running into it
toward it
within it
opening the door and throwing myself in--
I ignore your voice over the muddled traffic sounds
and listen to my own instead:
where to?
the man says.
to where.
I say.
the pen shrieks in my hand
before I notice how it has bled over the leather before me
expletives overflow onto the smooth seat I sit upon
and I am unaware of where this strength has come from
*what the **** are you doing, lady?*
the man screams
the door swings open
before I even have a chance to cease its quick decision.
I leave the pen on the seat, screaming
it will torment the man instead.
a screeching pain emits from my shins as I see
there are pieces of asphalt imbedded in this new chapter
of the same sad story
I’ve been telling for the past
*******
year.
I sit on the sidewalk
examining my wounds
and suddenly you approach
panting,
and angry.
as I record the glistening pearls of ****** remission
you greet me with,
I was so worried.
like hell you were,
I say without looking up.
your voice means nothing to me any longer.
you’re bleeding,
you mention as though it has been the
most original idea you’ve had within the past three years.
my hand plunges deep into my own flesh,
emerging
covered in blood,
as I caress your rugged face.
*yes,
I am,*
I say.
and I can see in your eyes that **it
is
here
and it
is
now**
your hand suddenly lifts me from the sidewalk
and into the woods behind you--
my blood hums on your cheeks for just a moment
before it melts into the sewer.
your hands are no longer hungry,
but full of assurance--
as though this were the one thing
you’d known to do.
my gasp echoes against the trees above the traffic cacophony
your knees are scuffed as you drag me out into the park woods again
wait----
I gasp for a fleeting moment
we are?
yes, you say
we are
and as my breath catches in my throat,
I see.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
dark bars
no light in sight
but the light that emanates from your throat.
it cascades through the barren landscape of this rough and worn city.
there’s nothing here for us,
you say,
as we hail a taxi cab heavily into the night
your breath smells like it longs to feel something tonight.
and I respond with a grasping hold on your thigh.
where else can we go? I ask,
as I truly do not know.
your slurs say as you point,
not here,
but your eyes said,
**right ******* here
and
right ******* now.**
my hand slides up your thigh.
pant, pant.
you gaze out the window,
and I watch how the streetlights glance at you from the parks and alleys.
suddenly, you call to the cabby
here! this is it!
and the brakes nearly shake me out of the reverie we’ve created.
your car door is already open by the time I’ve unhooked my seatbelt and paid the man.
the night is so dark,
I can only see the bottom of your
expensive shoes and
your toothy grin
like a child who’s found
his
missing
piece.
what’s so significant about this bench? I ask,
you are positively fondling it in joy.
I turn around to see if the cabby
has in fact left me for dead here;
indeed, it’s just you and I for
the
Night.
the echoes of traffic and of the moonbeams
ringing in my ears and your calling further into the park
something akin to
I’ve found the one for whom my heart sings
though the word “sings”
sounds more like
sinks
deep in this wooded night.
my mouth gapes open as I look above to see
many moths aflutter on rooftops
engaging in perilous flight
I stop to wonder if any of them
must long for something more
than a swift battle with the night
and light--
as I look back down,
I see that you have begun walking back toward me.
what’s the deal with this park bench?
I yell to you.
you’d never understand,
you say.
what a pain that is to hear.
**what part of
this euphonious spider's web
has ever made you think
I’d not understand?**
suddenly defensive I sweep off into the night
wait,
you call,
but I am too far gone.
-----
I wrestle in my coat pockets for a call home and find
a pen wedged within its bowels.
headlights flicker on its metal surface as I look both ways before crossing,
but step out instead--
a taxi swerves to stop but I
find myself running into it
toward it
within it
opening the door and throwing myself in--
I ignore your voice over the muddled traffic sounds
and listen to my own instead:
where to?
the man says.
to where.
I say.
the pen shrieks in my hand
before I notice how it has bled over the leather before me
expletives overflow onto the smooth seat I sit upon
and I am unaware of where this strength has come from
*what the **** are you doing, lady?*
the man screams
the door swings open
before I even have a chance to cease its quick decision.
I leave the pen on the seat, screaming
it will torment the man instead.
a screeching pain emits from my shins as I see
there are pieces of asphalt imbedded in this new chapter
of the same sad story
I’ve been telling for the past
*******
year.
I sit on the sidewalk
examining my wounds
and suddenly you approach
panting,
and angry.
as I record the glistening pearls of ****** remission
you greet me with,
I was so worried.
like hell you were,
I say without looking up.
your voice means nothing to me any longer.
you’re bleeding,
you mention as though it has been the
most original idea you’ve had within the past three years.
my hand plunges deep into my own flesh,
emerging
covered in blood,
as I caress your rugged face.
*yes,
I am,*
I say.
and I can see in your eyes that **it
is
here
and it
is
now**
your hand suddenly lifts me from the sidewalk
and into the woods behind you--
my blood hums on your cheeks for just a moment
before it melts into the sewer.
your hands are no longer hungry,
but full of assurance--
as though this were the one thing
you’d known to do.
my gasp echoes against the trees above the traffic cacophony
your knees are scuffed as you drag me out into the park woods again
wait----
I gasp for a fleeting moment
we are?
yes, you say
we are
and as my breath catches in my throat,
I see.
