after F. O’Hara
i have turned the corner and realized what you mean to me
though my heads been caught in lightbulb catastrophe
daydreams in some rough seasoned morning. I am always announcing
my return before I even leave. Rubies, swift jealousy and moons are small
In rain or in snow or in immaculate yellow sun, with rusted
clouds draped over me like capes, tongues hang off of mine
and I cannot comprehend these muzzled linguistics.
I wrap your face up in my hands, your gold hair a mirror for two, with
falling parts one by one, a vow of a pedestal’s potential.
They wrote every warning like a patent. I am unable
at once to fully contain this loveflow my confusion of the altogether
of sundays to mondays or leaps, jumps, bounds of story. You twist your mouth
back and forth, my eyes race to catch it. There are terrible
winds today, it feels like the storm that left us all
laughing behind it. Yet
I trust you like you’d trust Roman excess or a book’s sturdy word. And if we find
the world’s falsities
exposed like foibles, folds undone accordion rhythm readiness then I guess
we had it coming.
I turn another corner and kiss your forehead with my moon-smacked lips.