he is left-handed and
he has a scar
at the center of himself
like a ladder
and he let me see it
he let me kiss it
we walked and later
not much later
i tasted the salt of his neck
and later
in the slowly darkening room
i held him to my breast
and there was the low gentleness
of his voice
speaking of pain
the state of emergency
what is emerging?
something melting in my mouth
chocolate, or memory,
or something yet to come
his mouth in an alley
finding mine
everything is lost, always
omens present themselves
like gifts
eager to be used
an unlucky day,
friday the thirteenth
a perfect day
a man climbs the mountain
in pain
and lives to tell me about it
i live to kiss the scar
at the center of himself
