Across my window, green blurs by,

And Olympic Mountains tower high,

Rock-flecked beaches and blue-green sea,

A shining needle marks the Emerald City.

The highways are wet from the constant rain,

And a whirl of wind kicks up from the speeding train,

Creating love, as I take a trip down

The highway by the Puget Sound.

I will not lose my desire.

I see them walking—
Dead women walking—
With rings on their fingers
And bells on their toes,
But there is no music.

They stand still—
Never looking,
Never watching,
Never wondering,
Never imagining,
Never straying.

Loyal lovers,
Resigned lovers,
Dead-on-the-inside lovers.

But I refuse.
I refuse to lose my desire,
My umph,
My ooh,
My ahh,
My yeah, baby, just like that.

In my mind I feel them,
See them,
Love them,
Make love to them.

Am I wrong?
Am I unfaithful?

Is it wrong, unnatural, sinful
To feel?

Yes.
But I am alive.

There is a ring on my finger
And bells on my toes,
And I have music wherever I go.

We’re rounding up

our (plastic)

armies—

our wounded soldiers

with their

bionic           limbs

to our woven queens

stapling       on

their           silicon

breasts

and (plastic) noses.

We keep   their     bodies

on ice/            carbon   dioxide

in preparation

for global

warming (apocalypse).

An age of             rubber (plastic)

will cover the

earth.

The                                                   surgeon

(plastic)

has the    touch          of

(G O D)—

worship in the

factory/operating room/p(p)i(l)n(a)e(s)w(t)o(i)o(c)d box.

Melt down the

ashes

into

(plastic) toy guns

for our      children.

A photograph of you and me at the MarylandRenaissance Faire:An artfully-captured-yet-objective-image,a liar.

Two hundred seventy-three thousand, six hundred twelveignorant pixels

depict slate skies and clouds my memory omits.Portrayed is an earth-toned, suede-faced animal thatwe idle upon:An Asian elephant (smaller than the better-loved-variety,African in its origin).

That is the lie of a misfit lens.

You and I, dizzied by our fresh infatuation and hard-cider,           made more light than that camera’s aperture

could consume.

Above purple peonies and tiger lilies

(orange, as you like them best),                                                       We flew.

Following an imaginary line from your nose to your navel.

Pink Floyd heaving breaths of desire.

I know what’s beneath your shirt:

Your heart, longing for me, to long for you,

Even if you feign unawareness.

You yearn for me again

Though you’ve had me a thousand times:

We’ve loved on grassy knolls,

Kissed in lovely groves.

Our passion has already been calculated,

So no impulse will be out of place.

I’ll never cease pining for you,

Needing you to learn your lines.

Despite the fact

We’ve never even met.

His arms reach down

and gently caress my skin.

His fingers graze my face

and slowly trace my

jaw, neck, shoulders, and arms.

He pulls me into an embrace,

warm, soothing against my

cool pale skin.

November sun was his name;

he was a brief, but

enchanting lover.

Yes. Oh. Oh.

You were born from

sweet, fruited wines            and

concoctions of hopsandbarley.

Ah. Yes.    Yes.

You were conceived   from   the

faults of   latex .

Oh. There!   Yes!   A h !

You were produced

on f l o w e red bed sheets

seen through

shadowed light—

reflection cast through a smudged

mirror.

God is hidden inthe bedside table.

I’m close! Ah. Oh!      OH,

Child—

You bear no resemblance to

your father.

The bed looms before me,
Vast and soft.
Its malleable topography retains no trace of you,
Though my imprint is permanent.
Have I dented yours?

I sleep, dissatisfied.
You are not beside me.

Is there an outline of my shape on your bed?
I tried my best to make one.
I squirmed and burrowed and made myself heavy.
There was a problem, though.
Your arm was between me and the mattress,
Breaking up the memory.

Intense brown eyes say right away
That you’re too smart for me.

Jackass.

Who gave you the right
To look into my soul?
To smile like you know?
To throw me such a heated gaze,
So passionate,
Like it’s all I ever wanted?

It’s all I ever…

Cocky.
That’s what you are;
That’s all you are.
Without those intense brown eyes,
You would be nothing.
You would be every…

Stop it.

I don’t care how that stupid
Five o’clock shadow would caress my body
Or how those strong, masculine hands would…

Are you enjoying this?
You’re just teasing me, aren’t you?

Well, I won’t give you the satisfaction—
I’ll turn away.
You’re just a stranger
In a bookshop
In love with me.

Maybe.

Please?