Numb hands, locked on Stuart Street,
A kiss goodnight—and kisses more—
Like a lucid dream brought to night.
Longing in the old bones
Went looking for the meat of things—
Why do the phoenix’s wings
Stretch longer each and every time?
Why burn hotter, why cry
Louder with warbled tongue? And fly
Not yet unzipped. I admit
I do not know what wants what.
I kiss your neck— lonesome spotted mutt.
You have seen the prettier side of me
And I of you, that’s fair.
But my branches are touched afire.
Are we to become charred, tattered,
Prettier than a waterfall of air?
No comments:
Post a Comment