Body Chorus

There are moments when her body calls to me. When her eyes seem to have invitations in them, crawling out of the irises. This then disappears like she has hit a big switch. A body switch somewhere on her body that cuts off the communication. And we seem to tumble back out of reality. A reality forced backwards by her, like a lump in her throat scrambling to the top. Yet there is no hint of desperation in her fingertips. No apparent subtlety. No mistake to it. Only perfect message and a matriarchal familiarity. And I swear sometimes she doesn't know how to look at me. Faggot, eunuch, or brother; they're all the same to me. But I catch her slipping every once in a great while and something escapes her eye. And some wakeless nights I've felt the dense flesh of her tongue in my mouth.

Amuse

Dear goddess allow me,
But for a moment to amuse thee

For when last time we had met
The previous night I had received little sleep
And nearly holding myself up against the wall
You did greet me with a simple hello
(Which took me several minutes to hear)

Alas dear dark-haired grass nymph
Do not train your spheres on me
As I assume you are preparing tuna-fish sandwiches
And ask God in prayer that thou didst for me

I am assaulted with images of your smooth-god associate
Who seems to own your limpet smile
And I, all the while
Leave the room that trails with this gentle sandwich perfume
(And herbal tea but for two)

Wouldst thou, dear goddess, amuse me
And but for a quick moment pretend,
To apply such affections to me