four butts nestled across the bony structure and pleather,
we broke the couch then fixed the couch
we screwed in the crumpled plastic leg tight now–
then listened in the pleasure of being a carton of eggs sitting quietly–
and right now
it is all sweat and c4 and things i can’t afford
but it somehow works out
that i find five dollars in my pocket
rolled up like a little rug
for me to lie upon its elaborate green design
everything i’ve ever wanted….
and anyway the expensive gas station pineapple was so good
while we sloughed miles
passed month eleven
as the first temperature drops slit across the window
a sharp silver sliver
while chunks of blue sky twisted
and compressed.
there is nothing so complicated about what I want:
to rest my head on your calf
to press my fingers into the rungs of your back
to knead the tough dough corded with connective tissues,
to massage life into place,
its juices stinging the infected slit in my thumb where
everything is taut and tender at once
like a switch blade’s safety snap;
to press love out of dead flies between sheer curtains
love out of a cast iron skillet
love out of chains from ace hardware in sacramento
love out of miles and miles of
love out of amtrak
love out of plastic wrapped food items
love out of sidewalk karaoke
love out of cracked phones
love out of muscles
sore from exertion sore from disuse sore from unstretched
sore from love
love from stretching acls and it bands and whatever all the parts are called the parts that make up a city where
love in the hot sheets of summer the humidity of all our breath beads up together;
i want to hold the back of your neck where it meets your skull
i want to tip your life face to face with mine
i want to touch our tongue tips together across open space like giant gods caressing each other’s Sistine Adams
i want to be a little too intimate so that i am a little disgusted by the strangeness of your saliva and the feel of the bumps of your tongue
i want to touch the part that ingests the part that nourishes the part that macerates
the tongue is not the strongest muscle in the body but eight speechless and flattened muscles pressed against mine disgustingly vulnerable too naked too raw and too factual.