Insignificant Other

There is no proof of us.I will not speak your name.No pictures frame us together.Letters could be lost. Even when we embraced,we reserved plausible deniabilityas we approximated our version of love.It was a meat thing,skin on skin, muscle against muscle –the odd language of fleshshouting down our tepid protests. On our first night together,I remembered…

When the Moon Romances

I’ll linger here in churning waterswaiting for the tide to come –to wash us deep. I’ll ready your body,the rhythm of your curves,the blossom of your wrinkles –A story I want to join,join, join together in the future,a future, now. Our truth is hot flesh,sometimes burning.Our neurons flash lightningthat even oceans take time to dowse.

Gift of Tongues

You see me.You stick out your tongue.“Put that thing away,” I shout,“it could be dangerous.” If Satan has a forked tongue,does he enjoy spicy foodsor are they just too damn hot? The round, pink wormpushes Gerber’s carrots and peasacross emerging teeth,through thin lipswhere it spills, orange and greenover the chin. Twenty years later,in an expensive…

Cosmic Background Radiation

Once, I bit love, tried to tongue it inas my heart banged,broke ribs from the inside.My brain was a radio tuned to her.All else was hiss. Hissing, radio static bounces aboutsince the Big Bang, reminds us,once, the universe wasthe small, hot head of a pinwhere lusting angels danced,then it exploded. How many times can it…

Cigarette Girl

I would be with you.I would have you roll me,take me to your lips,and light –pulling your next breath through meas embers flare my brevityand my existence dancesbetween your teeth. You exhale,you exhale,you exhale,and I tendril in wispsabout your head –one last caressbefore your footdescends with a twist.

An Angle on Life

I’ve aged unevengrowing legs of a different life.I tilt through this world.Part-short, awkward clop, clop, clop of a semi-molded limb.I’m six or eight or ten – alone again.If playground distances are measured to the nearest pal,my book, my wall, my shade made my continentand I or he or the sniffling, shuffling boystill waits at the…