Across my eyes it swept away
forever. A hard sand bottom
asleep amongst rainbows and dimpled pearls
every year
around this time.
Moon sliver grey sky silver blue
with open eyes and friends, growing and collapsing
the deeps.
I’m tired of blue this year
this time.
—-
Across from her and he and me and you of we.
I know you red Maguire, jasmine ancestor
strange romantic me.
Coincidence such
afoot behind my door,
heaven in spaces,
mist, to stars. In lungs
soaking in bests and worst
dispersed to even proportions
attached with perfection
as it is just then
instead of all at once whole.
Some young dog will get my eye, my being,
being what it’s all about. Heaven in dust.
—-
Crossed my mind - that door, that line, it’s ease.
Porcelain doll with open legs and an accent, in you
I could not come. And him and he, he kept on
and on with no familiarity, no taste
we’re trying to dance, my god, my cock
my altitude in leaving, you crass romantics
miserable fucks. Depravity at it’s poles
as you fucked his girlfriend…
—-
Do you think she remembers the music? Some summer months
and years away.
Little Paris she told me
on the slant down, both ways,
we were on the peak
balancing on soft cushions while I dragged my tongue up her thigh
and we fell
to burn our limbs on the floor
lick our wounds in tangled sleeps
till dark the next day.
—-
This isn’t it. This time.