Spring 2010
The damn dog has been brainwashed. He doesn’t know
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us anymore.
We ate and then made love, the windows open to deafening twilight.
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I will tell you about the sick. They are ruthless, they are like Attila.
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Below, the kiss silently maneuvers our bodies closer to the rose bed.
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You know you’re in trouble; finally someone is gonna let you have it.
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Finger tracing the terrain, you hold me through autumn’s loss of color.
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I didn’t know I would be any good. But I knew I wanted to be a poet.
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