For S.L.
I can see your open mouth – then
your aspect – curling hair turning
in a breeze – blackbird songs are
now your words [amid saplings] –
long strides quit – you study your
land – & I take a look at your arse
in your jeans – figuring how I can
slip a finger between your skin &
waistband of machine stitchings
in order to lear [more!] about you –
a sudden being [my chainsaw girl]
I am feeling your blind skin under
my pressing – it gives – it returns –
as blood rushes – you are laid flat/
Your hands direct my nod of head
[our worn minutes bear no weight –
no bedim of lights – deadlines lost]
We meet with mouths & breath of
shots from sex – oozed into youth
of timings – but with a [brief] rusty
fumble – then we come to concur/
I find myself [with my sudden girl]
You can hammer glass [& ascend]
– my problems fall away – knocks
& beatings lift as my bruises fade
from sight – there is a rope – a drop
within reach – no loop or noose – it
was my one necktie [for too long] –
& shall we stop? Can we pause for
my fingers – rough fingers – to rest?