Mein Gesicht an dem Kissen

.


some sort of unknowable pull.
some sort of intoxicated desire.
some sort of gross need.

some sort of unnameable itch.
some sort of gasping breath.
some sort of gaping mouth.
some sort of begging bitch. 

what fire?
what spit?
what fuel
burning across this livid skin, this apologetic pink?

what name?
what prayer?
what immoral ache?

see me
as if eyes had never found my face.
see me as if i were new.

what of all this anxiety and demand?
shut your mouth until it's time to kiss.


your face in my telephone.
your torso rising in my bereft and lonely dreams.


some sort of answer.
some sort of opiate.
some sort of comfort.

some sort of eager whisper across the knees.
some sort of fever.
some sort of austere hope.
some sort of home.

what fire.  what spit.  what fuel.

your accent tonguing the tips of my syllables,
polishing my silent cowboy edges.
in your mouth,

my name
my history
my fearful disbelief
never had it so good.



some sort of mirror.

some sort of reckoning.


.