Two more brown bodies enter here
and our eyes kiss,
sing to each other
the old, whispered refrain:
“We will all of us burn
together here
ifwhen the shit hits the fan.”
Two more brown bodies enter here
and our eyes kiss,
sing to each other
the old, whispered refrain:
“We will all of us burn
together here
ifwhen the shit hits the fan.”
I do not trust you
or your flirting eyes
or this unwelcome moment
to which you’ve brought me,
accosted gently by the wrist
and so alone
abandoned
together with you
here.
You sat down at the table
against mine in the café,
joining some acquaintances
and pretending not to notice
(Come on, how could you not?
I could smell your warmth
and feel your eyes)
while I read and listened.
You tried to impress them(: me)
by reciting some lines of Pound,
and they were mesmerized
by your sharp mind and those
deep blue eyes shelved above
that ridiculous, cocky grin;
I remained visibly nonplussed
when you turned to check,
but maybe I should have
told you then the surprise it was
to hear my favorite poem
alive on your lips
and given you the approval which,
withheld, you craved so deeply.
You were in my dreams last night,
and I kissed you, slowly.