Two Appeals

My Love

Turn a latex glove inside out—
             that’s what it looks like.
                          Every part of me aches
its belligerence in your direction.
                          Did I wake you. Show me your teeth.

My love swims you, your shoulders
             like hard sails under the green curls.
                          Doesn’t sink. Doesn’t stink at all.
Small powder around the moon.
                          No, an eggshell. I was baking. Slight odor.

Call it a fragrance. I fall it sometimes,
             sleeping. Didn’t laugh that way.
                          Why are you angry. Something hurts very badly.
Look I’m bleeding it. Hold your body up against mine.
                          I’m a pool noodle with too many feelings.

Look good in that dress though.
             That thing that happened once happened again.
                          In a kitchen in Brooklyn.
At a rooftop screening. Under the table in Middlebury.
                          Happened to me differently. It depended me to you.
People on couch
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