i. how do you want to see me?

with my head to one side or laughing or with my eyes closed or gasping

i wish i looked like that guy in that movie. i say this religiously

nothing pierces more in me than that want to tilt my head

and have it look like when he does

chin scar. i have something similar from a scooter crash as a kid

you can see it in the right light when i lick my skin and pull my lips tight

i want to move so fluid like water over you.

think of his hand on my lower back. not him

but a dream of him. pull me out of my december dreaming. cut my hair. nothing changes

this deep ocean aching is so harsh and cracks my skin
ii. we were so fucked up

on the glow stick necklace he had me fasten for him

and the way i touched the back of his neck where it met his hair

as if i’d known him before now

before the mosquitoes found their way inside

and january yawned into darkness. i cut my shorts and put

mascara above my lip to feel more man, and somehow it worked

i can’t forget that tug on my shirt, stubble.

no bitter taste. only warm and wet

i want to dance with somebody in my head all night

like a moth beating against the glass door to be let in
iii. something sulking about late summer

like a body slipping over river rocks

i wish i was a harmonica, a pleasant whining, a cherished hum

feel me pressed against your mouth like the unhampered

heartbeat of the west, like the sun sliding across the desert,

like a tongue. it seems as though february is always

begging me for something rich and heavy

pockets full of smooth stones

to be stripped of his t-shirt and flung off something high over water

a momentary cotton angel lit by the sky

such a bright blue, he feels

stark in comparison. i am

never going to be anything as sainted

so i just watch you

until i’m perfect in my wanting