Moments of conversation are coyote
how they jump off cliffs, it’s cartoon
how lofty they feel suspending disbelief
how mistakes make them heavier than anvil
But we’re bound to fall in reverse
Beginning grounded, starting slow and bland
she says, architecture is a complicated structure,
rise into purple speech-
Design contains the genetic history of conquest
Into something lofty like, balconies and banisters
make exquisite gills, filtering our voices, through twists of metal.
and into Yeats - full of nape, beak and thigh-speak
and suddenly, colonialism and design
has never sounded more suggestive
so, I whisper something self-serving,
(nestled in the space of an incomplete sentence)
like prospective lovers do, funny how so little sustains us
when music and conversation are in short supply.
and I can see the crinkle of swan feet in your eyes
the disgust rutting into your nose.
When your swan calls, you must listen
let him land in the pit of your mind,
to pay you visits the way he tends to do,
when you realize the weight of the present:
the height of a mistake, feel the biology of discontent,
my swiftly tilting heart for you.
Like the time your feather fingers played
the black keys of my ribs, searching for a laugh.
Somehow, an ocean rose within me and I blurted
something animated during sexytime. No pillow,
could smother the insensitivity of crying wolf
in the echoing theater of your mind.
I wanted to wrap around your tonic soil
like bone rooting ligament with a gentle,
me too. I understand. And I do,
but a Titanic weight remains to admit,
we have nothing in common. Orange-webbed feet
have never pried my knees,
my neck has never been pinned like a staple.
I’ve owned that myth and it’s a tragedy
all the people who can’t afford
buy into the lies I crafted to love you,
so I eat bowls of Ramen alone, and cling
to shame and paint sorrow with words
to cover my tracks. I keep running
into rocks, cartoon or not, my love only runs
on faux pas, I’m aware of my mistake, but tears are
no punchline salvation.