The taste of her mouth
Sipped along the smooth edge of
Promises of water.
When the first drop pointedly struck
The back of my neck,
I knew from the drowsy shriek
Of odor seeping into the base of my eyes
That she smelled like rain.
And the storm comes.
Call the lightning and ask for the thunder,
Get only the shock of softness and
Comic, silly, animal wishes, and then
Finally the electric bolts of
And water, water, water.
In moments of lucidity between the cool
Angry spells of darkness
Brilliant light reveals
Blond, brunette, bald
Strangers that aren’t strange enough
And each terrible roll of thunder is the same lolling
Har, har, har
Of common laughter pealing from pretty painted lips.
Kiss me harlequin,
Kiss me anyway.
And still the storm comes.
Our simple carved bodies buck
Like the decks of lost ships
Hopelessly lost in the merciless inhale and exhale
In and out
Of an indifferent, rhythmic, vengeful
Sigh from a wracked, wrecked, hideous
Bitch of an ocean.
Crest the wave and
Crest the wave and
Dash me forever
Not on the rocks but on the
Terminal infinite nosebleed of that
I am lost.
I am shorn from other bodies
I am shorn from my own,
The water is the only life left in a broken body.
The waves whip the head gently in the lolling nod of water
Making it nod up and down saying “yes yes yes”.
The crest threatens to dash apart that little bit of bone
To take that little bit of red blood and lose it in so much
And the body
Has only the constant careless “yes yes yes”
Of the stiller water somewhere far away.
My God I am lost
God I am flotsam
I am flotsam, flotsam, flotsam.
And somewhere her eyes mutter “repent”.
My blood for wine
My flesh for bread
All my conceit for the inevitable
“Peace, be still”.
And she is gone.
And once again,
in the beginning,
There was you.
Your bulbs once planted in the dry earth
Patiently they waited for the passage of the flood;
They have bloomed,
Feeding on the sorrows of great water.
Once lost in the water
I lay found
Face down in your garden,
In the midst of your Audrey Hepburn roses,
My nose filled with the peach petals
Of the ones you call Just-Joeys.
Originally written 7/28/2003