Each one of them like man.
Each one of them is whole.
Each one of them speaks tongue-tied.
Each one of them begins where
each one of them ends.
Each one of them wing-tipped and double-breasted.
Each one of them walks upright like a stand-up bass yelling, "down in front!"
Each one of them wrapped up and curious-
Octopus arms.
All eight sides of my being are alive for you
in the way you nose dive
into prominence, potential
wear it like a graphic tee
that proudly announces your irony.
You opened the sky with your appearance.
I stood bold in your italic threshold
asked for your presence to iron out the wrinkles
in the ways that I had been approaching myself.
You rolled moonrock into my shadow and called it night.
I called myself rough draft.
You pressed a finger to my lips, created silence.
You stood skywide in my horizon
asked for my presence to occupy your basin
in the form of ocean flood.
You turned your eyes to me like binoculars
said the only thing rough about this draft
are the glaciers- and they're beautiful.
Don't go melting them off just because I asked for a flood.
Be you.
We'll find balance
in long-form attendance.
Underlined
in red.
These are not corrections-
just places where I recognize- you stand out
like the 1980s.

04/19/2012

Posted on 04/21/2012
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