Thursday, May 17, 2012
and kissed my ear, my jaw line, my face,
convincing me utterly
of your roadhouse infallibility,
and of my own divinity--
a spray of spirit caught inside a potter's jar of flesh.
you could convince me that cats speak Cantonese
or that Rock island Reds can rhumba
when you lower your breasts softly
I published my love on the rain-side
of silver maple leaves,
and should the caterpillar of the tiger swallowtail find it
and be pleased,
I would respect her view, whether her wings one day
be yellow, or a deep feminine blue.
The sound of your voice,
the prairie flower edge I love so much;
or the aphasia your bare skin engenders in me,
brings afternoon rain every time.
I am the rippled, vintage glass pane
in a window made love to by the weather;
Call me "Mine" when you fuck me,
let me know you can see right through me,
and that what you see