Sometimes I say the wrong thing
but make it glow
the displacement is obvious
you moving into my aphonic “never”
pouring from the city top
the gutter run-off pooling, unctuous
the sounds you make after midnight,
vivid beyond the cadence of white sex noise,
hold the tenses of empyrean oddities
my vocabulary is a statue
poised for only one syllable
maybe two
we become half-moons looking in
on the parenthetical slipknots
that took no time to tie
it is appropriate to exult
to sleep
there will be plenty of me
saying wicked things
but you can have my atonement meat
for breakfast
and I’ll lie down in your lap
my disbelief on the outside
to catch what I can from the corners
of your mouth
the details you know in silence
because I mean them
and the waves in our bed sheets
are for holding you under
I pull you up, vaulted spine beam
breathe into you
and I’m the one who is saved
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