mixed media
Chapstick knocking in the
dryer it was yours tracing
my lips in a frame of
crayon petite nude naturels
my dark beach boy man
coconut sunscreen and sand.
Cinnamon d’amour pours
down a bathroom drain
organically pure I’m a
squeeze tube of acrylic maroon
the color of
love is for morons
Indian Red you would say
every pore well informed
I’m more off than on without
you I’m crushed in the middle
and left out to dry and I
think it’s time again
to change from silver to gold
my neck my ears the fingertips
of my toes are soaked in
enough of your sweet allure
without second thoughts
of these Mexican silver moons
and stars and pieces of
you that I wear. The towel hangs
three days from the hook.
Absorbed as I am in
another the one that wasn’t
still we held on tight didn't we
to every half-light filtering
through the glaze and
in-between the cracks
until our next god died.

"Very evocative"—Kirk