QUOTE, draft 092720131931

It’s a gift, reading your smells, the
Oils on long green fingers, distinguished
From the chemical thin residue
Leans, waiting to be pleased
Across yr brow, the sudden spike
Of cheekbones. There’s no
Smell there, despite — Yr hair, swamp alive
& long ago wet, precious &
Fragile. You, an unprintable man
Loved at an impossible distance & when
———————————————–& when

I close my true brown eyes
Turn my back
Memory like steam flies
Seeping into every crack.

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