I’m Pretending

stars in the trees2
By Jeffrey Graessley

to taste desire in your skin–
that hidden scent of wet flesh,

unfolding like a flower’s head
to the heavy sun. I’m pretending
that every second is a fantasy

eye behind the camera,
one more romantic comedy
another predictable ending.

if I’ve come to understand anything
it’s that words coupled with intentions
are not enough, but I can easily
drink myself to a point

where the neon lights behind the bar
cast streamers– coronas
like halos

and it’s always your eyes
that are left holding mine.

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