Heat

Photo by Tara Evans on Unsplash

Has this been the hurt inside of you
these cuts on my hands 
the crush of broken promises.
Your static mouth a shrieking fog

buzzing in my head, humming-
you like grains of sand
scratching a desert
in my throat.

Remember me a grapefruit moon

hanging in your rearview mirror
love in the back seat
melon, sunset, smoke.
Love

took a back seat.

Now the morning rolls down her sheets
silicone heat waves sweat across my tongue.
I listen for you 
but all that moves nails along the wall
are reflections of an empty afternoon.

(my arms reach 
for three corners from this corner)

The windows are swallowing sunlight
the sunlight is dangling through trees;
traces of a dim lit landscape
you used to speak of

in dreams.

Erotica is not the body. It is the poetic experience of the body.