I want to love you
I want to love you like a deck of cards
broken in to bridge with ease
the old reshuffled suits
in the closet or on the bed
on the flannel blanket
that gets untucked by our 3 am feet—
our “we’re both up, may as well fuck” feet;
I want to love you in feet of measuring tape
month-markers; I want love you in ink
and the thread in between book spines
instead of with these no moon, all moon tides—
this loose braid on the back of my head
windswept and salty
and always so close to falling out.
Hot Engine
hot like summer’s
tail end
of a fish
tail, sliding all
side to side
tailspinning until
stopped in the shoulder
stuck in that handshake
with freezer burn’s
split-second stick
to flesh, the feel
of almost fucking up—
close call still
ringing in my ears
and somehow also
my tongue.
Solstice
Fat, slow flakes
of heavy snow
bow pine boughs
low with waiting—
encase us in
for the night.
Lit fire and the tick click clank
of swelling metal starts.
Our lips silent
ears aglow
illuminated
in the Minneola-throated
song and sway of
ashening oak.
Our sloe-gin-fizz
slow eyes
find one another’s—
flames and our tongues
flickering half-speed and silky
folding orange to embers.
