If I close my eyes—you appear.

Crawling behind twitchy eyelids,

slow walk  solid calf muscles  nutmeg flesh

marinating in Rasta oil.

An opened upright blade,

slight bounce, like you steady hearing

Bounty Killer in your head.
Plenty chat, telling me

’bout your third-eye

and what it sees.

Your body learnt to shutter

its want, buried snugly beyond

the breastbone. Watching me lift

your shirt away, feel

the marbled ridges of your spine. 
Tongue tasting the scar

etched into your skin,

above your lip. Press your

still open mouth against mine.

I try to steal your breath,

suck earlobes and neck,

split you open like a ripe coconut,

catch and drink the bits of you leaking away.
Beautiful man, you are

the ocean churning inside a skull. Every cuss

a broken piece of bottle. You never left

the island but long to. Fingertips smelling

of tobacco or herb, always ready

to fight someone or something.

Thrusting a gun finger

into the air, rigid—

a brown beacon; I will you

to life: fuse sinew, blood

tendons, bones, memories.
When your hands wrapped

across my stalk of throat to feel

me writhe beneath you, you could have

picked me up if you wanted to, crumple me,

throw me away, watch me dissipate

in the warm air around you.
I licked your sweat

from kicking a ball up

and down a closed street,

four concrete blocks

for goal posts. Wet clothes tangled beneath

us, kisses like darting hummingbirds.

You splayed me open,

taught me a language

of bite and bruise and sweet.

Dis is how yuh make a wound,

dis is how yuh heal it.
A version of this poem appeared in Black Renaissance Noire.