I'm meeting you half-way, cliff-diving deep into your Cisneros and linger lazy over two (no three) beers after work. It staves off the inevitable afternoon heat and lonely sheets twisted and breathless;
Its pathetic how I push into your absence, a miracle, the way you please me from half a world away.
I've been jacked on coffee all day and reading in the parks. I barely notice the kids on the corner selling 'Revolutionary Art and T-Shirts.' Sallow skin, thinning hair too young; They make me laugh when I shouldn't.
For simplicity's sake I cling hard to your words which break my wild kingdom of desire into easy ark-like pairings; each wish coupled two-by-two.
40 days, every beast of the earth, fowl of the air fucked in the name of all that's holy.
40 nights to be alone with you.
We'll call that religion and be done with it.
You can eat nothing but mango. Dance around fire. Anoint yourself with saltwater, showers and sunshine. Hurl your Spanish daggers my way.
I will match you word for word, hellbent shudder for godalmighty flutter. You wanted anarchy?- those are butterflies gathering on the screens.
I wrote this on the back of the poems you sent me.
I am determined to couple you as completely as the Tigris rises to meet the oncoming deluge.