after the buried ash
Everything seems pulsed without it –
A halo’d memory like a flash amongst the dust (a
Whatnot wherewithal), a splice of glitter glimmered –
Fucked and full of fuckable holes where love is not enough,
The calm that seeps worry into calm and wonders about your health,
A worry that has two fingers, crossed.
And still there are resting moments
That reach out and touch the tender parts,
Fingering it like a spasm. The day you came
Was all but enough because you came, and I did it
Solid with a hand and a mouth and an eager eye.
You on your back not looking back
To those moments when I took your screeds like scolds
And you never bothered to say anything
Since saying something would make it so
And so we left it there, on the sidewalk, like litter,
As if we were the ones who would pick it up later.
But there was nothing like a moon in your pocket,
And I forget the way you talk about your secrets,
The transient motel that knows you by name.
The flicker that shone on us then
Was just other men’s dicks in our faces of fact,
Everything was nothing but a single image or touch,
Then spat out in a review of negative results, until
The whole mess seemed greater than the sheets, and we saw
Enough onto each other to be each other.
The species like cellular dynamic of a whole where
We held the whole, if only for a few hours, hunting
For the hours we lost, the hours we hold dear.
