*
-scents-
*by someone who stopped smoking
and doesn’t always enjoy a sense of smell*
(frankie leone, just a man)
*
*love doesn’t smell like
lubricated condoms opened by a stranger
-
or more credit card debt in soho
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or a long run from yourself at the y
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or well whiskey on a black, black(ed out) night
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or awkwardness getting caught staring on the train
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or the bodega guy knowing your favorite ben and jerry’s flavor
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or forgetting there’s something else working dawn ’til dusk
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or desperation to see someone else in that reflection*
*
*love smells like breathing deeply
alone, noiseless, ok
-
love smells like spooning with that reflection
eyes closed.*
*
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*
February 28th, 2012 at 2:23 am
Your story, as you wish, is
That of survival, forcing
Philosophy into the sun—just trying to get up the next day.
Here’s something new; the kind of fulfillment
Your mind speaks of softens
At the vibrant light of your movement:
How you hold and handle women,
How men hold and handle you,
Both with the mindfulness of an instrument’s potential,
The permanence of a song, the performance mutable.
In spirit, I keep to you as before,
Cautionless and with abandon;
You send more postcards than usual,
But your words are not steeped in our bodies’ sweat.
You speak in still symbols—clearer
As more and more you pass them to me;
You are comforted by the directness
And aversion germinating in all words.
When I’ve always had your mind,
When your words pour upon themselves
With the clarity of water,
What would it mean for me to name your body parts?
Stick, what I once thought were unlikely words from me,
To your chest, between the rungs of rib, behind your ear with spit,
Underneath the sweet intimacy of your ball sack.
How, now, that I know to you, an eyelid kiss
Carries the same sentiment as a forehead kiss,
Without the condescension.
Is this what happens after you heard
Yourself call me beautiful and
were surprised by its new sincerity?
We can agree to leave these words
from conversation and post cards, because
our words can’t become as vulgar as indifference, or
said under the duress of a promise;
we will be plainspoken as the sun.