January 14, 2011

I’m feeling romantic,
so let me say something nice:
your sway falls exactly left
of where I hope to land.
That space between I’ll gap
whatever way necessary,
with leaps and bounds
to the center of you.
You’re slightly off balance
in the best possible way.
Hear me out: the black dress
that bunches at your laterals
is never perpendicular
to your nape horizon.
That holy cross becomes
you in the thinnest of light.
I like how you linger too.
When your lips are close to mine
there’s always an artful pause
between my question and your
response, as if you’re asking
permission to speak
from somewhere deep inside.
You’ve never introduced
me to this gatekeeper,
which is probably why this pen
inks your memory when so many
other intrigues swirl about me.
Before I set you to floating
above the sidewalk on silken air,
let me clearly state: you burn
in the sun, you run like a girl,
your filth too fills this gridded world,
only I forgive you this and more;
your intentions are whispers
breaking through brick.

LOCATION: Troncoso, Brazil – About to go out at midnight when the vacation crowd fills the bars.

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