Dear Rachel
New Year’s was a mouth… a river… of want
stretching like power lines in the dark. Between our bodies
laid a desperate thing.
I held myself within that embrace. I traced my star into your shoulder blades,
and felt a year’s throb in my stomach. The jaw wept
of hunger for you. God. It was almost a flood. I was almost
the ruined mammoths and not Delilah.
I had to forget my hands to forget you and I still
cut everything apart. Into ribbons: one for your hair,
because I was also Samson, and one to place neatly between your teeth
and tongue… the night swallowed me.
A year held its stolen breath and I held
mine. Against your stomach where I could hear your love like an ocean,
I held my breath and tried to forgive the dawn
just like every other night
that year.
(I love you.
Eugene)