The word ardent, the poem at 3 am, the mustard smile for me on her dinner plate.
Being thigh to thigh at a poetry reading,
the heat, the ill of wanting.
The letters, stamps turned upside down,
a spot, like a pebble, amidst so much slippery.
The monkeys mating at the zoo,
the pottery mailed from France,
the glass at the Toledo Art Museum,
so fragile and destructive,
slow liquid pretending to be something solid.
The dread infused love, the first rush of lust,
the permission to let hand hold hand.
Outside, stolen kisses in the dark,
while God, himself, watched,
smirking and laughing,
then shrugged his boney shoulders.
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