Discussing the
Weather
White hot.
My body drips.
Perspiration pours
from burning temples to
spin into rivulets, catch and
gather where chest meets meaty
arms; where salty birth stretches to
leg, steps to the beat of a carrying rhythm.
I wipe
my hands before
speaking to you. Erase
evidence of my breathless
need. I suck down ice like a
pacifier, in attempts to stifle my
cries. They become louder, despite
all attempts to cool my sweltering skin.
I’ve just returned
from the bathroom
sink. I bathed first in
what you left me. These
fingers became your tongue,
these stifled moans mingled with
your own, escaped my burning fantasy
to spill into the hallway. Down the stairs
a cool breeze
picked up pace,
like heavy footsteps,
quickening in speed as
it neared. Rising fast as my
temperature, burning to bleed
like mercury on skin, waiting for
the saintliness of rain. The thermostat
is bleeding.
Sun says: Didn’t
want to hurt you. But
you begged to be beaten,
gave me the whip and when
I raised these fiery arms all you
said was Please and Thank you. All
you did was stretch lengthwise for the burn.
remainder
not your koko taylor cds, or your good luck dancing socks.
not your crisp black belt. your ink pens or your red felt
fedora.
your blue silk shirts were so soiled i used them as rags.
never even
wanted your new jack swing or that thing you do with your
eyes
that makes lies go down easy like honey. honey, you can have
that
bottle of whiskey left under my kitchen sink. i think you
need it more
than i do. leave the sponges, the mop and the lemon scented
bleach.
that jar of protein powder i’m holding onto for strength.
and so you know,
i already returned your overdue library books. got my salty
laugh back for free.
Now rise up, and get you over the brook
We’ve been reduced
to ice cold water, salt and
well-beaten rocks, as though
the old customs could possibly
sustain or keep us clean now. In truth,
we hardly remember these early folkways.
Ah, but what we have hidden – glory! – the
angle
of dawn on our fingertips, pressed against our
mish-mash
flesh. Your honeysweet lips upon mine at the first conscious
breath.
body surfing
in. past the harbor. past the docks. beyond all ships.
further still.
past pebbles and sand. after the washashores. beyond the
point of seagulls.
along through the buoys and fisherfolk to where salty waters
sink into song.
when you get to the edge of the sound, keep going. you’ll
have flexed
your fingers, stretched your toes, pulled your muscles
loose. when you get to
the skin call me. make sure you’ve scrubbed your hands,
clipped your nails. tune in
to the beat. not only rhythm, but beat. when you get through
the skin hang left,
baby, call my name. what you seek rests just a little bit
further on. hold your breath,
let me reach you. the rolling waves can be unsettling.
fortunately, we’ve already eaten.
|
