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Thursday, March 13, 2008
Designated Ready Maid
Category: Issue 9I would take the thickness of an eager kiss,
take my heart’s crankshaft clatter
and the narrow width of that brilliant flare
that flashes between day and night,
take the texture of a smooth bright
red pencil on a blue-lined yellow pad,
to make satisfaction,
pour it into a white foam cup
and drink it
just as cool.
I would measure your mouth,
define immeasurable quantities,
like enough and too much,
and paint that fascinating fullness
in between.
I would write of want,
and recognition of want,
of all the steps from touch to bend,
through each retreat,
to the surging delight
that repeatedly drifts to the side
like snow packed on the toe of a booted foot
slipping through and through and through
picking up frozen residue on the run.
And I would not run.
I would lie to give you that full feeling,
as heavy and sure as a pink hydrangea,
as insistent as a swinging noose,
but without distrust,
without aggression,
without that yellow pulling back.
These parted lips, this shallow breath,
this effortless dispersal toward the gullet—
beneath this wanting
lies the secret of desire
perfected by its lack of rules.