2:35 am / Thursday, Jan. 08, 2009
My mind has been spinning
There’s a wheel around the moon—
And my footsteps sound heavy in the snow
What a gracing thought for a winter dusted with:
insufficient funds, missed connections.
It’s my susceptibility to your core,
The magma of you,
Who do I think I am--
To have caught the deadliest catch?
What of it? When separation cuts like
Stalks of corn dried in the field-- after season.
It’s slow torture!
The vibration of ventricles,
The nonchalant numbing desire
I don’t want to cease.
Without my fingers in the creases of your knees—
My toes at the tips of your feet—
The sweet subtle taste of your camel light kiss