I love the way you talk out of the side of your mouth, like you could somehow reel the words you say back in,
throw out a line, before it's too late.
I wrap my arms around you before you can react and it's just my way of saying that
I love the syllables, the speech that softens your expression,
the fox-light in your eyes
and your curved lips on mine.

I imagine you foal-legged on the first day of the week,
waking to meet the filtered morning
and sipping chai tea. I
watch you cross the persian carpet floor and
pick the person you want to be today.
The summer skin is now dried away, and
your powder face is ready,
the fresh peach cheeks
and the curve of a crooked smile
grow goosebumps on boys' arms,
as you swing yours to class.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

to undo a body, is not to undress her
but to

speak as though each word was a
truth in itself
and each smile on your face is a gospel.
keep assurance by never walking behind her
(don't ***** the animal inside)
and leave out the words associated with the
past and family, and why
she crosses her arms walking down the sidewalk.
no questions,

but kissing, that is an honest thing,
that is a piece of scripture.

the vice that sets into my blood stream,
the sin that allows me to sin some more and
comfortably sits just below my skin

to let me know i can do this,
and i can say anything, be
anyone. the bottle knows my body the way
fingers do, the way lovers know their
person's ugly marks and

softens their cruel words. it is my lips that rest
on a gentle edge, a glass edge,
and tips my chin to meet the encouraging kiss.

some kind of weirdness about the way we connected. i swear a sweet whisper was poured down from a distant planet, a loving hand brushed over the milk of our lives and joined us two, floating,

oblivious in the white. we joined the others in the stars and it didn't feel wrong. it was meant to be, a smile shared captures an infinity

see,
i don't give myself away any more
in the form of dark kisses or
jumbled conversation or
merlot, or cote de rhone
(let me explain)
my words sweat out, like oils on my nose.


wake up dry mouth wanting,
someone to hold
and i turn to my lines, i turn to my soul
and bare it on a blank screen.
and i forget what he would have meant to me
because i don't need it