Optimism in the Face of Asshats.

July 7, 2012

“I want you

I want you in silver
in threads like strands of
memory-coated-folicles
in soft imprint like the paint of
the moon on my shoulderblade
in the ink of my mouth
pressed from my tongue to yours
like a key or a
taste I want, you,

in the same way late night hungers
for early morning
waiting impatient stars fading
the geography of constellations
kissing the pastels of
watercolor sunrise
as the pads of fingertips
are all points and thirsty pores
until breathed into the touch of
biological difference

I want you in any capacity.
in dimly lit doorways where you
touch the inside of my elbow and
press your nose to the divide,
inhale the fold, the divison,
in dirtroad parking lots
where you move my fingers
to the nape of your neck and tell me,
to rest them there tell me,
it’s the softest part
of your
body.
that your topography lies there
naked and shaking
awash with anticipation

I want you to fold back my eyelids
and press your lips to them,
breath your words
into my retinas
I want our bodies
to know each other,
like long branches know tall grass
like blood knows coagulation
I want to sigh into the folds
of your forehead see
beneath danger lines
because with us, there’ll be
no borders.
Our bodies
merging like
Pangaea.