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Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Translate me: look for her here.

I ran from you. Undrunk to songs unsung
twisted. A crown upon two heads
hid from things too familiar to be comfortable
too chafing, raw skin on shades of grey.

And I hear her voice among the pines
clear tinny fragments, sirens wail
plastered on steps and rusty nail beds, you
teeter here, pleased to show, skin to skin.

I watch you how I want to be watched
open and disbelieving and hopeful and haunted
eyes follow your gaze, down a throat, up a thigh
lined with smart truth, lusty innocence,.

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