one day, this will probably explode into several different poems. for now, let the thoughts jumble as they may!

do not confuse this poem for a poem of love
or even one of lust--
willing close and intimate, oh,
where can i begin?

i can no longer concern myself with the quality of
first-draft writing
we live in first-draft, don't we?

how about i start with the small blue sunbursts of
the neighbor's flowers or the skin-settling effects of
damp earth and the dew-pearls strewn across the grass where i
run my feet?

or perhaps the damp-body smell,
it is a subtle placement of hands
bursting color and cracked horizon
finger trails spine, every vertebrae an instrument of gasp
feet touch feet
hands touch feet
nose press nose and hip press hip--

(i want to set type into my body
if only to see it reflected in a brand
on the plane of yours with fallen eyelash parentheses
and freckle punctuation)