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Halcyon
no longer strange to be wrapped through lives
of those I’m loving threading into Bedstuy through boys kissing for indy film O cartoon skateboarder smelling of 40 O raphaelite asses and deco abs the bridge a joke about bridges pink and complicated In the Hassidic neighborhood’s specific category of quiet walking to Chana’s I am suddenly in love. Who isn’t. Lucky me. I wasn’t romanticizing it until I was. Chana says Puppy Puddle we lay our heads on each other she says come, cubs we read her plays My good friends, I say not knowing what that word means except I am lost in that satisfying combination of sounds I’m hanging around them. Anyway, we’re all here, dancing in the living room somehow kissing then fucking. I hold someone’s hair while she gets fucked I fuck him while he fucks her she fucks him while he fucks me The way this falls into words glancingly, honey-soaked like a crumb of Challa after breakfast crystalized and dissolving We’re giggling too late and too early in the shared bathroom at the theater living space shaving a soft mohawk In Philly B’s kisses snap like her eyes when she comes up dripping, teeth and grin, her small creature folded brings me hunting into seams for flowers and salts. E makes breakfast in his dimples we walk hand in hand in hand through Rittenhouse feeling supernatural. I tell-all to D’s mona lisa smile on old tracks over the city his body taut with contained amusement + lighting up from within like a smile + fucks beautiful + playful + sensitive + shaking + soft wet mouth sounds thinking fingers a low hum. I decide to let the world call me back It gives me a safe word I don’t use I listen to the sounds through one earbud over coffee, on the train, before we go back to bed. Opening an argument is like surgery, it leaves a scar. But still I’m almost intolerably happy wandering in a skin so worn in that sex seems like the wrong word for something we just forget not to do unshowered, with a strange allergic rash still getting drinks for free for once the universe just won’t quit and poetry is just what happens keeps happening a sound wall pushes words out what inhabits me like music the bass a tide of good pain. You smell like sea, I say to B all asynchronic, she comes up wet all teeth. the room roped into a ring a thing that gels and wobbles, melts + rolls shines, repeats. strung splayed wires bared tuned tight and popping run a tongue into all the salts some old aloneness stretches the landscape around a little lighthouse a radio receiver I like her lyric spasm, the way I don’t think about it being good or not because it speaks itself into my body and echoes out through a voice I didn’t know I could have. Look at me, handling all this beauty. |
