Open up your mouth and
we’ll press our lives together.
In the future you’ll stop breathing,
and in a loving way we either will
or will not have been kind enough
to each other in this life time.
Remember the night we thought
we heard an owl telling the future?
Remember, no matter how hard
we looked, we couldn’t find its
two pale orbs among the camellia’s
What I meant that night but
said badly or didn’t say at all was:
your b-baller’s touch was
like a stone-fruit – hot from the sun,
tender, but with an aftertaste
of rocky indifference – traces of planet,
mineral, amethyst, a hint of dry river bed.
I think I am terrified of being
left alone with a spade on a
small, sweet-skinned moon where
the view is beautiful but
nothing will grow.
So, I’ll kiss you on your
big pink mouth, but leave before
I learn it’s me who’s not fit