we’re in the elevator
falling
floors away
from summer
in the next room,
where September
spins on a loom,
a half-held moon
catches our smile
sleepy-eyed,
beneath a cool sky
that starved our speech
and fed our laughter,
we did not kiss.
in autumn,
I break the bat
just stepping
to the plate
I have always been this way.
the air smells like beer
and wet dirt
and winter hats
and plaid shirts
and sex on first dates
Indian summer’s sweat remains.
on the phone a friend leaves me a message
“I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say.
Yeah.
another says,
“The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.”
another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged.
a burning man proposal.
giddy and scarfing 2am pizza,
we slop up tequila
we are school children
writing desires
in one another’s diaries
fools for that warm feeling
before that
therapy,
where my therapist says,
like a Cheshire Cat,
“it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.”
I look down at my cold feet.
I keep them moving.
Yeah.
This.
That.
This.
A salted wound that only swimming can fix.
I am satiated by my solitude.
I am nourished by friendship.
my thirst is quenched by our art.
The worries of our world roll,
ache
pull
at me
and / if / but
I talk to god
and listen.
I want for nothing.
103 on a September day,
the sentiment remains—
I fall
at my knees
for fall.
for the first time
in my life
I want to fall in love
slow-ly
bite by bite
piece by piece
marked by canines—
lover’s teeth
I want to be fucked
reckless
right there
in the g-spot
of my mind
and in a body
the loyal kind.
let’s get this out of the way—
I’m walking the pony
back to the barn each night,
I’m leaving the pen door cracked
giddy up if you need to go
I’m taking the long road back
to my place
where the fire’s burning
and handwritten letters
are on the way
ready or not,
fall falls upon us
in spiced leaves
winter weddings
root veggies to roast
cinnamon
on toast
my mouth falls open—
a dog salivating.
in the soil,
the scent of the harvest.
walk don’t run
to the table,
I hear myself say,
I’ll sit like a lady,
but I won’t close my legs.
in an October sky,
I spy with my little eye,
the shape of discernment.
what of this bounty shall I choose to eat
what of myself shall I choose to meet
what of compulsion will take a seat
this time.
I once nursed a wound
that came round in September
thought I’d never be the same
and I was right
to think that love
could only mean
spring.
a time I fell so hard I splat my teeth.
I was mistaken.
warm irony,
I once believed
it was a chore
to touch me
somehow
somehow
somehow
I’m still standing
breathing
hard.
rounding toward knockout,
I want to savor this.
the way my name
sits like gin
on a bottom lip
a smile riding cheeks
a metronome,
sweet
sweet
sweet
come here, baby
nice and slow,
come here
and kick in my teeth.