don’t pretend – you don’t
know what you’re doing
building a roof with your hand in your hair
though at first you did deceive me,
sharp blue corners in your
too-pale skin and that too-relentless television stare
Leaning at my doorframe,
ever so nice –
Not my type.
Entirely unreckoned-with housemaster,
down with the curtains,
a hit of fresh air.
Weaving across the continent, reporting from afar
Should our paths not yet have crossed?
Were I timelier, well – I think I could have –
I could have –
dragged you from the
not-yet burning wreck, the
not-yet ruination, the
not-yet howls on the street at the moon of your eyes-
I didn’t know.
Whom do you surround yourself with to make you feel tall?
I have nothing to offer you
except a permaneant fixation,
a drop-dead, life-long, king butterfly
You can ask the other boys –
once I’ve come then I’ll be damned
if your eviction notice serves me.
If I bend and make you feel tall
it is no desire of mine.
talk down to me, talk loud to me,
brush your shoulders and call it quits –
I wouldn’t waste your time.
Heave after me, scream after me
I’m a dark oil slick in your boatful of sky,
high-strings and bee stings, wake through the night
I’ll wear you out with sleeping and my peace will be your fear
Cry after me, pine after me, pale when I’m near
and really my dear – now, wouldn’t you?
and honestly, my dear – why wouldn’t you?
when you have me before you
with my upturned breasts
and my hair ablaze –
why, my dear, you’d be a fool not to.