New Love Poem

Her legs in my life, a love at the
skin night
and day.

Conversing with flesh, a light
violet
now found,

last conjured today; moons
eternal, moons as alive waxen,

perpetuity of our spiriting sense:

this seasoned morning. A
believe-once-
old-new-world;

loving on her new skin.

Reach, her grasp inside blue light
interrogating hearts upon
these

unappeasing fingers,
unpressed, miles like her new touch
surrounding my new
play,

in company:

our extensive glow–

space, a soundless heat, the
shaving chest
inscribed the bellows

of breathing rib, new objects–
gesticulating, set in memory’s
store;

receipt of our cast-iron apple
cinammon seed:
my opened mouth, my wild
solitude.

I inhale. Bowed now in full, her
smiling quenched.

I, So Liking

I, so liking to enjoin myself to observe,
and to deeply hold her mind

well worked into
mine, all held inside it,

in mind.

So, enjoyed to liken,
then, (not-nothing) regardless of
reality fielding

irregularities dotting
her tees, her: she, criss-crossing
my two eyes—

Laughing, no longer lasting apart while fallen
tumbling;

threshing truths on the venom of hefted lips.

Thelonious’s Stuyvesant

The thrill of safety sounded,
a thrill of
safety loosed.

An assail
forward, ‘for the future’:

just about the poem’s
right mind.

Proud (pound)
per inch, what happened now

but of an heir
to one mercurial rule.

Veiled stitching/
pealed ivory restrains

a lake: of black hue.

Contain, communicate,
break within weight–

a hold.

“This is what
we are doing” cited,

read as such,

fever written
on a city.

Listened
for an uncertain
tone;

inattentive (having been away).

A
painted stabbing
traverse
of dust, tiles,

carpeting Thelonious’s Stuyvesant.