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