with Skidmore Fountain @ the Living Room, NYC
The moon sits at the bar like a vamp
and my eyes are dune buggies, shredding
up the barren landscape of her shoulders.
What is the age of beauty?
How do I dispel the cover of clouds?
I approach and linger on
the nape of her neck, then dip to whisper, “I couldn’t
help noticing you from across the void.”
She slugs her glass of twilight over the desert wind,
drags a cigarette, blows smoke then sighs, “my oasis tent is just
around that sandy bluff.”
Imagine veils. Imagine velvet
grapes, towering fountains of wine that taste of mulled dream.
Imagine anything, then multiply it with the past seven days.
Tonight, the moon arrives as I float, waiting,
naked in a pool of stars. She goes to slip
into something more comfortable and returns
in a spacesuit.
You are a magnet so huge,
you have a gravitational pull.
Do you see how light
bends for you?
I am developing black
holes in my mind, for
something so huge
I cannot find.