Cataracts: A New Baptism

The hills are coated in message boards

and chatroom callers: dirty little whores,

with solitary arms, and a message for me

about shoulders.

 

My lesson was learned so completely,

at the hands of a girl; she taught me

driveway-love—where the kisses and

palms go—where tongues and fingers go.

 

We shed so little skin, in flasks

of craving—nursing, baby sips, but noting

all is not forgiven, when nothing

comes, of all that liquid-quick.

 

“O how I wish I could taste a mere second

of your hours.” Cataracts: a new baptism;

we seek young-love, as the bridal showers

pour over bleachers—the insipid flowers.

 

We can spread our great philosophy,

and make love on the arrases, while

wading through deep, verdant puddles,

soiled envy; I wish so deeply,

that you’d just wake up here inside me.

 

How I covet you, and all those curves of perfect

sleekness; dear girl, wait for me—for only a few

more minutes…before this precious ride of shivers,

comes to lay you forever to rest.

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