your crooked teeth —
fitting for a chainlink crook in hand-me-down yellow stripes,
swinging fists at hornets that fly past your ears,
buzzing,
brandishing benevolence...
only to dodge and contort,
to shift and slide and sprint wordlessly to another field.
how unsuspecting i was;
how coarsely i gathered my courage,
innate and unblinking vision shifted to two dark lenses
often bloodshot —
'til i noticed how closely they resembled
my beloved fawn...
unrehearsed, blasphemous bullshit
spews sporadically from in between
those crooked teeth,
akin to the pillars adorning those great houses
thirty minutes southwest.
god,
what i would give
to see them rot where they stand.
yet you inspire: younger, eager, aware of these probabilities;
and i oblige: older, bruised, somehow defying all odds.
we danced around the subject;
trinket-trap, bad rap, missionary, no cap...
i run my fingers through your long hair and confess
a nightmare i once had
that you cut it all off.
you promised me not to do it.
not anytime soon.
how badly i want to trust you.
how searingly, brazenly i hope for you;
i put my finger on your lips to teach you silence,
and you take my finger into your mouth and suck on it,
half-joking,
but when i look at it in shadow,
i see the lessons you teach me, too.
a loud damn mouth — and a dirty one as well
crooked as always,
faux-angelic, unprecedented sovereignty,
perpendicular to a perplexing paranoia.
this i know:
i can bend you to my every whim,
but only when you let me.
i continue to take you, every chance i get.
oh,
how simple my heart can be...
