We sat cross-legged and wide hipped.
This was a common occurrence in the early days.
Bird heads rest high above us smoke
tendrils kiss our cheeks and shoulders.

So this is love one of us says.
It was me all tight lipped an bundled nerves
Or her bright opened warmth
float between us.

“This is how it always is.” the other responds with
the magnetic pull of the sun-
(Imagination.)
(Consternation.)
--our apartment walls dripped an peeled
our clothes off one by one.

Shivers.
Shiny metal thoughts pang with grief
slams and passes. Now
somewhere there is a hurricane

of motion on fresh rugs dipped
in reds and browns. She cups her breast loosely
says “In Mexico they have siestas.” I nod in
an attempt to be grave or brave. I’ve never understood the two

of us wait. In cracked frames I’ve seen the future.
I whisper: Iraq is the land of dates.
None of this will help.
Quite simply put we’re doomed.
The end of the worlders were right.
The last callers had called it straight.
And I stood and watched from
Behind my books.

I should have ordered
one more round
the corner took that homeless book.
gave that penny for Jesus.


The air vanishes
through tiny specks of light.
My throat tightens. This time it’s her:
“I think this will help.”

In the distance tires peel.
battles are waged. The world moves
time stops. Parted lips melt together
we breathe. I know I’ll love her forever.

That there’ll never be a time my eyes don’t seek hers.
I think this.
I feel this.
I say none of this.

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