The Sign and the Signified

                    i. Glyph

Scalded by your mess, digging its relentless
     depth of spilled secrets you let hit surface, drops
     of clues enough to whet my interest, each
     bent glance a hint, what lifted its curse and caused
     my Stoic jaw to plummet, sent to thrall what
     anyone else would have trashed, this soiled mattress
     of a mind a soul as ribald as my own

somehow inhabits, what any other of
     its captors and masters would have abandoned
     and left to crawl, makes this crosstown commute so
     portentous, (y)our transit so significant,
     Venus and Mars envious of that grin for
     which huntsmen and quarries in the midst of their
     toils and wars pause, fatal flaws to stop all-out

assaulting such a great work and applaud them,
     every last winking god of your divine
     eyes’ highest pantheon, for creating such
     perfection, for having carved from a myth some
     being too obvious an exemplar of
     their art not to be a gift, this grin your lips
     reward we mere mortals who peer behind that

                    ii. Grip

curtain of the abyss that is your beard, deep
     beyond its darkest fringe, seeking a near-miss,
     to plant a lasting impression’s wettest kiss,
     foraging with stealth through that thickness of its
     brunet thicket and your tapping fingers, each
     a monumental column exacting as
     a warship’s slick engine, pistons pumping hard,

calling forth onlookers with orders best left
     unuttered, rhythm hitting into my head,
     unexpurgated scripts dictating visions
     of me giving you it, a sight that I hope
     signifies a complementary size, some
     heroic prize hiding inside such tight and
     incendiary trappings, vestments under

the lush wrappings of which hangs, from a cedar
     sapling’s growing branch, a musk package my hand’s
     eagerness to grasp will tempt to erect to
     full flourish, desirous as I am, dear sir,
     of caressing every bush and berry
     of that forest, drenched as it must be, or seems,
     in sweat saturating my Friday ride’s dreams.