to say that we are
somehow better
for dissecting layers of lost words,
and putting open our sloppy
losses through a maddening lens
would be to say
that we had wanted to know

everything.

when i think of you
scant-clothed and swaying
in door jams i am happening upon
a private moment you would not
have wanted me to see.

but then, i remember:

the thick-thighed embrace of your legs
as you crawled to my mattress-floor,
naked-from the waste-down
don't wanna talk, can't look at you sort of
horny blinders on,
feeling the pinch of your teeth
on my spinal cord and the way i knew
you were doing that dim-eyed grimace
running fingers under blanket-secrets.

so you say,
"are you happy?"
and i can't answer you in any other way
than closing off the words
to leave you to the yes
in my sturdy recollections.

in other words,
you fill the room
with the only air i'd ever breathe on purpose.

08/01/2009

Posted on 08/01/2009
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