Monkey Bars

The first time I smoked

I imagined elementary school, monkey bars

and how it felt to be suspended

over pavement, the metallic smell

on my palms, how the wind

made my eyes water.

Swung back and forth, gaining

momentum, anticipation, weightless as I flew

through the air, that incredible feeling

before I hit the ground.

Devotion

It is nearing dawn and the Louvre is silent

except for the sound of the guard's

footsteps that echo down the empty halls. In the wave of stillness,

I will kiss you. Loose myself in your smile, count the angels

soaring in arcs above your head. And as the sun rises, Mona,

I will strip you of your dowdy clothes, paint you in reds

and golds, the brilliance of the dawn.

You will whisper your secrets in my ear, tell me

how you dream of gardens, the first frost of winter, amour.

I will understand why your horizons are uneven, why you sit

so still behind sheets of glass.

Too soon you will be lost in the crowds, the sound of voices calling

your name, expecting you to answer. Our lips will part
and you will grow distant but I know that come tomorrow,

Mona, we will find each other

in the darkness.

The Earth

Pablo, he is not the earth

and our dreams don't join

at the top and bottom, through red roots

and branches blown together

in the wind.

I have slept beside him all night long, given to him

my hands, my mouth, let him travel

across pale hills, down my legs,

between my breasts while the dark

earth spins.

But Pablo, in the light

of the morning, I no longer believe

that neither night nor sleep

can separate us,

know that despite the warmth

of his arms gathered around

my waist, winter

is not gone.

He is dark clay, heavy

between my toes. I sink slowly, stumble

as he stretches, grows, expands

towards the horizon, the frozen sky.

And when I lean towards his lips

it is not to kiss the earth, the sky, the stars. Our bodies

they are not tied. I know that when the wind passes

it will take me away.