Window

 
You just walked by my window, a man as pure and true

as the winking words that cling to you

in my mind like dirty clothing.

For so long blind, it is shocking to now be struck 

with such longing and such loathing

on the occasion of you surpassing

in my tenterhooks the old lover,

amassing all his fire, usurping all my potential

anger and desire, both my larynx and my loins

are hot for your attention, want to make an intervention

in your bone structure, for the structure of your bone

is what might right now atone for all the past incisions in my belief.

I want a suspension of my practiced precision, the grief of my sharp words

softening in the moment of this tension, a torsion,

a new pull into the mystery of a new thief,

the contortion of my future, the distortions

of my past benched, this burst of words

wetter than the perfectly quenched thirst I dreamed of

when I was dreaming of a you, or some version of you.

And you walked by, high on the fumes of your opacity

but I always see what I want to see, such is the capacity of my lust

to fool me, and so I saw the audacity of your strut, let it unschool me,

saw something incredible in each foot following the heel before it,

I imagine I could kneel and adore it, this new sensation, my imagination

working doubletime, reaching for a reminder of the rhyme, the chime

of my core with another, so much left to explore, the whore in me churned,

I burned, the tips of my creamy thoughts turned on

by where you might be going, where you might be going...

North, South, East, West, the welts on my map snapped

with the thought of you, your belt coming undone,

North South East West, both of us undressed

in a feast of hands and fistfuls of hair,

where, oh where are you going? North? South?

Yes, South, you are freewheeling and I am feeling

a new faith, born again in your mouth, this sexual healing

surprising my lips, my hips rising in the empire state

of your tongue in my tower, my walls collapsing, my tectonic plate shifting,

my brain synapsing, sparking with your reign, showering me in a heat

so sweet in its deceitful love, I am deleted, by my own body I am defeated,

instantly completed, and immediately, I am incompleted once again.

But in the act of this overflowing, this aftermath of a deep unknowing

in bold bodily speech what is reachable, each inside each,

me just an imaginary you, you a you I do not do without longing

after knowing but there is no way of knowing or belonging

except this; I am free, no longer deafened by my old compass drum—

North South East or West,

I don’t know where you’re going

but I know I’d like to come.