eyes look all green in the
afternoon so perhaps I’ll fish
someone in.
This is a way of saying
I feel like Paris or a first bite of apple,
it is a window of time when I am
readable like a comic,
Holy onomatopoeia,
Holy Batman, Batman,
Holy my own constellation of
arm freckles and the sloppy way
they kiss when I fold my elbow.
God god it is awesome to be a
thing, to be relieved of the itch
to feed and sadden
Holy holy is the sweet time
when I do not feel so much
like a body of water,
when I am clumsily reverent of
my own hands,
when I am not holding in my
organs with sweaty fists
so love is still a medieval sonnet
and only a way to burrow
further into myself,
so in a few hours I will spend
like a lamp and
be a pilgrim to my own body
It’s pink outside and all our skins
are pulsing with
summer’s weird ambrosia holy
is the pop song about sex
that reforms each year like a
hydra
O right now I am a myth
or a telenovela, well-lit, I
will drink while it lasts