You lean forward, a secret.
Breath carries a whisper
Crisply in tune, ready to be
Riffed on, ready for the combo
To wail and nod and rise and gasp
And never give away.
Unseen clouds of vaginal perfume
Drift around the music tickling
How can you be so girl and so woman?
We get tacos before the plane takes off.
Sitting on the roof tearing into the food
Washing bites down
With port and poor planning soaked in syrup.
A lot of bullshit that at the time we didn’t know
You’re hidden under a blanket staring
Fierce and sincere clumsily rolling cigarettes
And making plans.
You’re eyes suggest this is it. This is something
I turn my glance towards the park, some kids
Making noise in the distance.
I sit by the window
On my bed
On November Thursday
Imagining Peter Pan eyes in
The reflection of glass
All mischief and green velvet stockings.
What boy do you roll idly through
Your fingers today in time zones
Three planets away? In a far more
Whim-drunk dimension of communes
Built on child-like lust and farmer’s co-ops
Where peas and corn are sold for compliments
Your name slips across my tongue
With hints of cinnamon and curry
And the texture of small wet
Mandarin orange slices that ought to be
Hanging in the MCA as poems of
What innocence looks like.
Plump, juicy, bright and unbitten.
I think that we are two, some kind of
Gender confused doppelgangers.
Protective, sibling lovers born into a
Proper society in improper ways. It’s not
The kind of love of marriage or sex but
One of understanding. One that might make
Life impossible were that plane to return because
We’d spend all day collecting friends and all night
Dreaming with them and making noise in parks while
Grandparents slept, and bankers slept, and machinists slept
And angels slept, and teachers slept, and bus drivers slept
And only children were awake in dreams
Laughing and chasing each other through bushes.