March 25, 2013

tongue and groove, is in the heart...

photo by Reinfried Marass ©


all I want to do is smell where my training begins

she said listen to the wind
all I did was feel the rain
explain to her how easy it is for love
to fill the spaces I thought she might be in
no one can see me here southbound hand
hearing me smell my motivation
taste or touch the divine part of salvation
hymnal books disguised as bathroom literature
you have lovely magazines I told her
and the bathtub, so close to the toilet
says flush before you bathe
is this too much conversation

are you going to be inside me
where are you I ask, who
do you want me to be tonight
she said no one in particular
I just want you
to listen to the words
and I did, and I got dizzy
drinking a slow forty ounces
it didn’t seem like it was going to be enough
I thought I left the television on
and I was in one big infomercial merry-go-round
I was the latest ronco cock-a-matic
and very much part of her payment plan

she said are you watching me in the mirror
I said only if you weren’t expecting me too
she said, can you hear the wind yet
or do I have to open another window
to me it all sounded like a mouthful of biscuit
flowers springing up like 1970’s Olympic gymnasts
flexible like they grew from every chew stemmed
every tongue right there at the
foot of the bed, the night pan courtesans
cupped their mouths
sounding like machines
like little oceans waiting

she said that was my new poem
what do you think, well, I said
if Jesus could walk on water
I think your underwear should be invisible
or at least thrown my way in the morning
so I might carry your scent for awhile
hold us close together like a secret Polaroid
so whenever a lull in conversation happens
I can just say out loud, I am in a personal prayer

whatever happened to pubic hair
I mean when did it become
so out of fashion
why isn’t there more hair where
the bare parts tell us things
we already know
like how soiled cotton panels
drive me crazy
but isn't this conversation
going on in your head, she said
it might be, I said, but I'd rather
rent this space to fantasy
and lie here until midnight pools
in another open window
you see crazy is listening to the wind
like it was a poem too
just like you  
imagining me
imagining you, crazy
is what I do
pretending words are
your body and breath
pretending
I didn’t know, sometimes
this is where it happens
this is where, I fit in best

EJR © 



1 comment:

  1. This is my fourth reading of this one and no other comment of mine will do it justice. I just wanted you to know I think it's beautifully written and tender, in it's own particular way x

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