BODIES OF WATER
How you were not there,
and he and I managed to slosh
around, drunk, heavy limbed
into play – into each other;
it numbed me,
like a heavy dose of Novocain,
though I sensed it, the weight
of water as it separates
from clouds, is pulled down,
scattered; I remembered you
in pitter-patter patterns
on cold, hard pavement,
despite being compromised-
you flushed in dark, and he
and I pouring ourselves,
tongues into cupped mouths;
your dammed breathing by sleep
apnea, and our sucking
air in greedily through teeth;
I wanted to wake you, to be,
and yet I was afraid of the thunder
and how it might rouse you;
he asked, properly, “May I
fuck you?” but I told him no;
one bead of sweat collected
at my nose’s tip, and it dripped-
these bodies of fifty-seven
percent water spill out;
I couldn’t tell you where that drop
of me went, but perhaps you do
for in my mind, my dear,
you might as well have been there.
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