IN CASE OF EMERGENCY TOSS ANVILS IN ERRATIC FASHION
and the leaves fall from the trees
to lilt along your words and
if you curse, it strolls out in cursive-
there’s nothing your tongue can do
that isn’t beautiful
(I would know).
One time I went for a swim in your eyes
I met a mermaid
with a camera
who took Polaroids and called them memories for you,
she took me to your throat
so I could write you poems on the walls
in the tone of my lipstick, and
How do you see yourself?
Did you know
that you can merely graze my thigh
and it feels like nirvana- and not the band,
I’m talking divinity and light.
And your hands are like salvation
without the piercings,
the world can’t thank you enough
for putting your cross in the closet
(we’ll wait for it to come out),
Did you know the virginity of your heart
gave me a self-indulgent hope
that maybe I could do this right,
like maybe I won’t drive a freight train drunk
straight through my love?
The sensation of your lips is almost epileptic,
running with scissors over hot coals, that thrill,
and stopping to appreciate the warmth between my toes
and the opportunity to cut myself off from other zip codes
and the loose spiritual dance in your kiss,
did you know that?
Your smile tickles my kneecaps like the Italian mafia, did you know that?
They tickle with fucking hammers.
You render me bed-ridden.
We are always bed-ridden,
and I do not mind one bit, baby.
Did you know that I have two heartbeats
and I don’t believe in God either?
The best part was taking all those bolts
from your crutches,
building you a studio,
and watching you dance in it-
you’ve never been more fluent in Astaire
and it’s the warmest sensation to watch you
and tap my foot to your meteorshower odes
when my body wants to do so much more.
Join the dance.
But like my handwriting, it is also full of lefts.
Did you know that I’ve known your heaviness?
Your coat was tailored by a blacksmith
who thought anvils made better shoulder pads
I wore it too.
I’m here to help you shed- it is summer,
after all, let your skin have a go.
There are two heartbeats in my body,
their syncopation sounds like ragtime
they’re for me and this feeling I call God,
because I refuse to believe he’s some cosmic maitre d’,
rather, he’s our embodiment of intimacy,
in the middle of a meteorshower,
dancing crutchless through the accumulation
of all the things that held you back- now long gone-
inhaling clumsy and exhaling sex-
God is your eyelashes brushing my cheek, I hope you know, and
Love, you’ve never stood taller.