You could have been useful
Man has within himself a tiny baby
trapped by its button. This is a solemnity
rejecting temporal relations. To puddle
on the carpet. To stand there and scream.
Yearning, a man asked me downstairs,
smell embracing the room full of touch, me
over myself at his empty dew. And here
is the first boy I fell in bed with.
I went through the shocks, unbuttoning
neglect. Wind chewed our hair;
he trapped my fingers in a glove.
What impelled the tongue flusters,
"You don't believe in God,
in knocking." The kick aeronautic:
a wicked streamline that sugarplummed
my walk to a legless roll.
Lackaday, the air was nothing but ice
and wool. No longer asking
anything improbable of myself