Love Poem

We covered the field, one night happening stormy and suprisingly lit, with what you asked and I told you how something shimmers in terms of our walking into it, or walking itself, which is to luminous greenhouses. That sync, whether I weilded a dog and you a frondy sweeper or visa-versa, we were

keeping in mind covering, a stretch, your hands as well your mind making shell shapes knotted, all your fingers being bits or like a white lozenge

and the soft bramble sticking out. I wielded a dog and you, a palm frond with large brown husks; your hands making all your fingers bits or like a white lozenge. What made them plain was white fuzz, wasn’t given to the character of lamplight, wasn’t slick as sweating you were, but fuzz because your hair, how it reflected your hands, how curious. You put my head in a hat and that was awkward. I was the bird. Certainly saluting, crimping my neck like that, and the establishment that I was beside you, as our bodies were certainly beside, looking like hooks at the elbows. You kind of dragged. To say nothing of knowing and not knowing while walking over the hills, I think things billowed but that was me.

Which is to say
I was knowing and not
knowing while walking hills,
why the horizon up and plumb,
covered like wet character
and

the billowing

of late, an address, my pair
of slippers sounding by.

that is, unovercast. or had we
already been turned
loose like now. But it is I
on the air mattress, my legs
hieroglyph, making a bell
with my bottom.

The bulb goes ghostly
over us, the simple thing
whispers & below
a fox is necessarily
the clawed apart a hole
in the mulch.

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