Kissing the Wound

Wanting you all to myself, it alters my Self
just to be close enough
to you to touch that mouth with its wealth
of hopeful words; openness
so fresh it opens doors when this stress
consumes me, so let’s just
fall down through all of this mess after the quest
licks us, sets us so free we trust

Fortune won’t deprive us of its blessing
when the village comes running
to burn us down and pitch us forth in
a communal effort to hit us out
of town; it’s your blushing worth a thousand
kisses on your forehead, your skin
your portion of perfection so few will transcend
that I want to lose count of, falling

Numberless times into your South End
which sends me into a frenzy
numb to this sign conquering us, sent
to lead us on, crucifying every
guy trying to turn you on; that covenant
stripping them while drawing lots
as if militant men even have a shot at capturing
someone so often sought, never caught

A million years of letting love in, drowning them
in the sea because they love her
salty breath, heaven’s æther keeping the world wet
when its ultimatum’s either destiny or
slavery to promiscuity; that pirating of the heart
so many let plunder them, it’s your
sublime fault lines of a smile that conspire to get
me out of its turbulence that pours

Me shameless into a tumble, making me a traveler
navigating affection as though for the first
time, your virginal burning of my glacial character
into a hero that sends me from deviant thirst
to here, so hell-bent on letting you in, it hurts you’re
so near though dissonant—a future
calling only I can hear, but will never call ours
as long as tempests and temptations lure

The nameless, flames thick with sweat cheating us
into needing it; the burn, the resounding
coming down, how it falls, autumn-red bleeding up
a boiling scarlet no letter to a lover written
in apology can fix, but won’t you put what
we might have into view, thinking
of what I could give if you’d forgive that lost
night I fell and tell me if you’ll let me in?