Poem 6 of 30 - April 2012
Have you ever seen a valley like this? I answer so many things. Can you hear the ocean? Smell the salt? I say nothing. Why did you pick me? I gulp down the last cool Red Stripe. The moon is impossible between us. It bathes us in milk. When she wriggles out of her skirt, we are already on the floor of the outdoor balcony. The moonlight tells me where on her belly to kiss. Her cunt is a vessel of rainwater. I only speak in original tones; clicks, moans, drummings from inside. Do you make love every city you go? Every island paradise, from high up, overlooking stars; cocks crowing in the morning? I’m letting the pistol grip of my thumb and forefinger cradle the bird in her throat. I pressure the fluttering and her legs open. An animal smell enters the narrow room. My body goes divining its source. We are naked now on the terrazzo floor. The blood in my knee is singing close to the skin. I ignore its falsetto. You bastard, do you love me? I lift her towards the bed – are you going to answer me? I nod my head. I bring my hand up her ribs’ soft ridging. I lean into the whistle from her nostril. I hear the water in a coconut’s belly from there. I hear the sea. I hear a hurricane coming. I hear the lament of a family’s funeral planning. I bite her lip hard, as the blood from my knee makes evidence on her bed. I love you, I say. Her hips tremble up to meet me. It is my whole truth. Perfect, she says, the night is perfect. Her hand is grace down my stomach. Come inside me, she says. There is a warm, humid wind coming through the balcony sliding doors. You hear that? We’ve begun to move, to add notes to the night’s sharp orchestra. That’s the rain on the rooftop. You hear that? She hisses through her teeth into my shoulder. That’s us talking. Come inside me, you bastard, you. Liar.