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faenum — Inamorata I: Exiting Evening
Published: 2010-01-29 22:54:18 +0000 UTC; Views: 176; Favourites: 0; Downloads: 3
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It was a moment precluding collision,or the way air feels on hot nights
when warmth on the ground sticks
to your knees, your back, your throat.
It was knowing which parts of me you'd always own:
idle grass-picking and my hair pinned up,
cosseting on rooftops and crosswalks, kissing
hands and the constant dizzy state of closecontact.
But look:
he taught me the way a body
could gasp and hurricane around another
like a nightmare, when he kissed me.
He did it because I said the letters had stopped
and because he's got it bad for rhymes,
the clash and confusion of words deliberate.
It was ache and distance, a fever
and it was naming constellations stoned-
andromeda is leaving perseus, can't you see
her moving away over the sky?
Giving you up was never supposed to happen;
it was all the disappointment of late spring.
I remember some days in parallel:
1)I paid bus fare in gritty coins
all July, night-traveling
with my cheek on your shoulder
and in summer dresses
with white thread seams,
playing music because even
late at night the air was warm,
and we couldn't sleep.
2)He drove my car down highways,
a grimy, fogged-up vision
of early dusk and mostly I knew
that everything was cold,
lights outside were haloed,
blurry as we passed,
his hands shook at the wheel.
I remember some days like they never happened
(in dull snatches) and if you were anyone else,
you'd understand.
That is the truth about everything.