Look over your shoulder for the hustle of words.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Disparity.

sun so hot, even when not on our skin.
we lay far apart.

disparate satellites burnt from whirring through
our weeks.

the light waters in once the night passes; the cool's come on.
a 3am chill, created a cave around us and like
there was elastic between our bodies
we snap back together.

your murmur at the relief, the mumbling a low tremor
in the hairs at the nape of my neck.

i want to make ownership of this pretty moment;
but no matter how close i pull the shell
to my ear
i can't hear the sea.

everything's blocked out, filled in with sand.
every grain named and placed there by
the death of love
spent poorly and foolishly and savagely.

echoes that call in my cells, loudly.

Somewhere

the cornices of the facades on King st
are gray with soot and mold and dust;
the citys leavings.

the traffic is an endless pull and strum.
a woman with a snake around her neck
swings along the street, her hips tightly budded
in jeans.

the sky peels open, parts of its white flesh showing.
translucent lace.

the salt of the air is heaviness. a tangy flowing down
on me.

you are somewhere in the city. i wait.
your friday night kisses undelivered, your promises
delayed by the mundane failures of transportation.

all i wish is to be held and held and held.

and now comes the rain;
i wait this through, too.

Grip

There is no way of holding a pillow
to make it feel as flesh does.
in the night, my arms search and find only
hollow spaces.
my fingers push into a rift.

and in the moments when i am waking
and you are sleeping elsewhere
i remember
how you lay behind me
after making love.

the knit together slate of your hands
resting just below my belly, cupping.
your touch more tender for
the loss, the losing.
the heat leaving our bodies,
our heaving chests
slowing.

your cock would brush me -
a gentle creature, delicate as crepe paper,
resting shyly near my back;
my breasts naked to the window's
diminutive sheaf of air;
and shivers in my spine.
the unity of breath, the foggy
scent we owned together.

all this comes in, over me; tidal
and sometimes as
a dark tsunami curved towards me.
wanting to dash my life out.

a stone for each memory,
heavy in the foam.