About Z

Wednesday, January 15, 2014
In my dreams
                      yours is the whitest thigh

    whiter still in August

against your bulk
                               your tanning brawn
           Your vascularity is in line
with each of my desires to trace
                         to bite hard
               to push against and grip
In my seeing
                     your thigh is so white
            that I cannot bear comportment I
                     cannot bear to write you
                 in any metered way

            This poem is an affidavit

of your smile’s long range how
static sits in longing how
                swimming up from the bottom of a pool
       you devastated me
                        with such a face and wet head of hair
            that built down to squareness of chest
                                       to trunks
                                       to the revelation of
Wednesday, January 15, 2014