Saturday, February 5, 2011


A smell permeates the bedrooM
Of body oil gone rancid
Pillows flooded with saliva
Sheets crusted from slick.
The urge to strip and bleach
Is stupid. All evidence nests
In the ditch of my thighs
It branches on the wire
Of your chest
And the soft between stones.
From bedspread to morning
Dark returns an impassable touch.
Only seed remains
Residual that I imagine to be dying
It is slow to leave my body
Hindered by scotch and dry
Wary of the unequivocal
Questions that kill pride
And urge celibacy.
Truth is a singular hope
To never be near you again.
The promise of desire
The hope for it
Pins a darkness to the sun
That ribbons and curls
Like hemlock in my throat.
I crack eggs into a skillet
And watch dust skip the steam.
Listen to the sizzle
Smell whites cook hard
Long before the yellow
For you who soaks it up
With toast and jam
You who dips his meat in syrup.

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