JONATHAN

He is older
thirty
but I am the old soul
for which he has no use

He is always in a hurry

I can offer
the rest
is out of my hands

the slow burn of bad years
have taught me to learn
I yearn for a student

He doesn't understand

He is always looking
for a means to the end

I have nothing to offer
I call him a good man
teach myself the value
of the means to an end

ON YOUR COUCH

On your couch
your warm fingers crawling
like an army of ants
up my spine under
my shirt thumbs pressing
my ribs closing in I feel
like a doll
so small a thing
a pretty thing

You always take my bra off
and leave my shirt on and I don't
understand why
and it annoys me a little
lingerie seems pointless
two fingers pressing in beneath
the zipper on my blue jeans

You like to touch
but not to look
my clothes are all still on
but I shiver you know
too many of my secrets

L

the last train car smells
like old milk
all aboard to sway
between First and Bedford
on the slow creep
reserved for late nights
drunk

old milk and beer

a child asleep on mother's lap
knit cap
falling over one eye
one aging Asian lady
holding plastic bags
filled with god knows what

who's been drinking ambrosia
is this the new drink
I am behind

my old brown
boots shuffle to make
room for more

IT'S NOT A WALK OF SHAME

It's not a walk of shame
if I pretend to be in Paris.

I stand on the platform,
waiting for the Six at Spring
in my party frock,
hair lightly mussed,
pain au chocolat in hand,
cafe au lait to go.

It's not a walk of shame
if I'm in love -- especially if he doesn't know.

THE TRUTH, or AN E-MAIL I SENT AT 2AM

It's been a weird couple
Of weeks with a lot
Going on and now
It's late and I can't sleep
And I can't help
For some reason but wonder
What you know about me

You probably suspected
But if you cared it never showed
I might as well let it out
Like a sigh of relief
That I loved you and I might still
And if I didn't believe
You're a good man

I'd never think something like

Congratulations
You're such a disappointment
Sent from my iPhone

YELLOW LIGHT

our World is the dull
yellow light
my laugh
knees drawn up
on your couch
wet jeans hung to dry

sometimes your hands remember my thighs

yellow light doesn't lay
itself burdensome
itself like day

upon our freckled shoulders
Intimacy is a big word

we are happy and unglamorous
we always share

a fruit before bed

SIENA

I sit in the second
story café drinking
white wine looking down
into the giant square

a mass of people
in groups of two and three
buying small statues
replicas of the David
or the Leaning Tower

proof they’ve been somewhere

proof is in my pudding
stracciatella
frozen and delicious
milky and melting down
my throat
dragging down chocolate shavings
and the last few sips of pinot bianco

I am buzzed and tired
from a day’s worth of walking
it’s busy but so quiet and I can’t
imagine Il Palio just now