XIV
|
INFINITE TENDERNESS
you are the strangest kind of wonderful wonderful like i never learned to sculpt my mouth and mind around as a child; wonderful in the manner of a foreign country,an east african veldt dotted with baobabs; wonderful like the smallest bones in your fingers, the honeycomb stones called 'knuckles'; wonderful, wonderful. yesterday marked our inaugural kisses. yesterday i laid my head down and listened to the slowbeat of your most favoritest muscle. yesterday i held your hand in mine and felt as nervous as a schoolgirl and as calm as a heart surgeon and i looked upon your face filled up with the feeling i know better than anyone i know, practically and now, when my fingernails strive, seek, and find the scabs of old pimples in the valleys between and beneath my breasts and the ugly old razorblade scars making roadways and paths along the sides of my thighs that olive, bearded face
floats balloonlike before my mind's eye. oop oo! o. i dreamed last night of chopping vegetables with amun.
we sat in a kitchen i must have found once in a movie. somehow his haloed head – beautiful, sculpted, and so classically egyptian, became yours a cute creole crown with golden plastic christmas wreaths winding funny circles around your hair. i just smiled. called you, "amun, my dear," and "let's throw out the celery it tastes like nothing anyway–" and i, a student of psychology, believe that dreams are just meaningless nonsense, of course but what is this reciprocal liking? what is this infinite tenderness? can i hold you, maybe, like bright red fujis in my eyes, or six pounds eight ounces avoirdupois in young amniotic arms, or just like you are. fuck metaphors. just like you are, bare-faced, a hundred and a half pounds, with your big blue heart and your big blue eyes. i will wait for your answer and hope beyond hope that it is yes. |