Cute Deli Boys
Rachel Branwen-Dutkowski
The wasting of my
youthful eagerness:
how easily one comes and goes.
Four eyes blink
and my knowing room thinks:
“Accelerate these languid minutes
and we might all be saved.”
but you play such mean guitar
backwards in my arms.
Why can’t you say what you mean?
My mouth trips
on your name
now.
I am forced to falsify allusions. I
avoid your eyes. I
go for a run and breathe.
The sandpaper wind cleanses,
but never deeply enough. Like satisfaction, it
never burns enough.
We are two lusts caught in limbo
and equaling three:
a mess of ego meets desire,
a denial of want
certainly a rebuking of
the other.
And we are <its> two
poster children; blindfolded
fireflies
hurtling toward a
fast-churning fan of
pretension.
I don’t need to see your face
to know you miss me
naked,
tangled
in your body.
I whispered:
The monster of obligation
died with the 20th century
and what remains are
lust-hungry people with
hands gone numb, lying
tongues,
and breathless bodies,
paralyzed in terror of a suburban myth.
Only these two bodies
are ours,
and our two lives
passing too fast
to be timid.
But you had fallen asleep.
Stormy summer day
The warm air is electric
And I am still young !
Previous | Contents | Next