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.