Why
You fell on me
like bored heat.
I pierced you
like a long hour
of needlework.
Gangrenous
each limb
that lay in wait
for the real thing.
I supposed
my animal supply
had run out.
On the thick
verge, my skeleton
flexed, panting
calcium. Nutrient rich,
devoid of charisma.
Brandishing
a new body,
I ready myself
for slick forgetting.
The man who
bites my nipple
is patient.
Can my feeling
be the same.
Life Practice
What do we do with the persistence of feeling?
I want to love without leaving myself.
I want to enter a kindness. It is a difficult thing.
Someone said satisfaction is the end of desire.
That satisfaction is the beginning
of new dissatisfaction. How difficult that must be,
to be loved by someone always wanting more.
And yet, I have loved you and you and you and you.
I have loved you and you and you and you.
The door flooded and in came a new thing.
Life Practice
Under the dome, a fawn.
How heat has a sound: it pops.
You watch me unburden myself
of my untouch.
I lie watched while you watch
under the pleasure glass.
You laugh at these funny intimacies.
For instance: how I was the steamroller
and you were the road which
would not flatten, or how
I painted you French Blue.
Violin dusk: how romantic
but for the thick swarm.
Our pendulum swift. We were
too feral to survive domestics.
Still I ceded to your lilt.
Shapeshifter us in our
fresh spangled future
and forever form.
