I feel my impermanent body.
Lipstick stained and full of flirting words,
and aspirations,
I know myself more
as one with the seasons turning.
I see my face in
ancient spells made fresh on his tiled walls.
Do you like
Cummings? She asks,
full of promises.
I wonder how many ships she has crashed.
Beauty, and a soft earthiness and fuck me eyes (and dear god fuck me as I take those curves)
I play well with others. And he is learning to share better.
They let me read them poetry.
Would that these words would rush from
my tongue across her lips.
Breath rushes from lips to air
all too quickly.
We would know ourselves more
as Love.
Later we lay together
and he takes a picture
of the moment after my last long sigh
and I am looking at her.
