Saturday, April 25, 2009

Poem: A Lover's Recourse (embrace)

étreinte / embrace

The big-armed angel left and leaves behind a wound
that sounds the heart but looks nothing like a wound.

To close the wound the lovers clasp the other tight.
They know that letting go will open up the wound.

Mother would daub a cut with yellow medicine
and mint a gold coin of the skin. I hoard these wounds.

The world, holding so many things, so many nothings,
is best represented by the body and its wounds.

When I think I can live with being queer all my life,
a morning happens, and the scar unlocks the wound.

A subtler metaphor marries a man to a man.
Comely gods and goddesses leap out from that wound.

My tongue flickering his ass, Hermes asked for more.
A cock was all Jee had on him to cure his wound.

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