It's Not Sad and Trashy
while listening to AC/DC. In fact, in this fog of dawn
something arty and sprung has taken hold of the day
so that flesh becomes paper you can read like the news.
I am reading you aloud on the bed or whispering what
I remember before I fold you over into me. There are people
all over this city making faces at what they cannot have.
I am not one of those people doing anything but walking
to work or sampling lips on the F. If soft has a taste
it's on my lips. A bruised raspberry held in creamy velvet
pressing into the tendon on your neck. Won't you come with me
somewhere vast and green and pleasantly turbulent?
I'll be so nice that you'll feel like I'm a new man
making you new too. I'm that good all the time.