Saturday, March 7, 2015

Fishing

A girl with silk pockets
and eyes slippier than fish
was waiting if she ever let him go
her Hawaiian lover
with balls
like fresh leeches
and tongue on her tongue
like a Kumquat
at night
he entered the body
of her dream
his black hair, curled
massed on his forehead,
his tennis trophies ranged
in barriers around them,
his legs leaping
towards love
or some ground stroke
his body was tan
in the dream light,
his penis dark
as a tree
she would never know
who the other was,
waiting,
speaking her low-pitched Canadian
like wind chimes
trilling syllables
he never understood,
winding and unwinding her feet
as if they were hearts
she sits
on a mat
scented with Jonute
her hands mannered
as an old scroll painting,
her eyes fishing

07011977