In Relating to Desire

In Relating to Desire
maybe i will write a poem
maybe i’ll lick my crimson fingertips
soaked in sweet kool-aid
maybe it isn’t sweet enough.
I will breathe smoke for you to catch
within your mouth or in glass bottles
in label-less mason jars.
and rest.
like the women in black and white movies
they smile spasmodically, as though revolting with orgasms, only
nothing is happening to cause the expression
simple pleasures that come and go in seconds on her countenance,
a twitch, a grin, a smirk, a bite, a shy flutter of the eyelids, speaking to him as though her tongue is ashore.. as if there is a clandestine accent.. a Gypsy dialect
something generic and romantic they’ve invented for the screen
a foreign voice that inspires xenophobia, but really inspires decadence.. in
sponging the aura of the beloved
you have only known for three days.. and already are in love.
admiring the hat slacks gun rudeness sweetness.. the kool- aid from his own red tongue
although they would never suspect color
or vex the fragile mind with its disastrous freedom.
i will rest like them
always sighing in the urgency that is censored by
always afraid to be less than ancillary
always frightened of the ascetic thief
the megalomania a mere reflection of the non existent
of fantasy
of what i could never achieve
for i only know how to love
and i suppose not that well
if i have to
write a poem about it.


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