my cousin is
an artist
of the highest degree

and tonight
another masterpiece
brings me pause
bids me see

how
oh how
i just wanted to be known
in these fleeting days
i just wanted to be known

i wanted it all;
days set aflame
to burn hot, untamed

but my words falter
and my steps bring shame

i still want to be known
lay these secrets out
let them burn in the day light
but i bundle them up
and carry them with me
through every taxing night

I saw you tonight

Perhaps it was shame I felt

That I stole glances of

A white spring lily

After I've so esteemed

Weeds littered on the sidewalk

How often still

You slip between

My restless thoughts

And fitful sleep

And how it is

Your lips belie

The promises of which

They sigh

even in the outlands

of this shameful world

wildflowers yet burst

in twilit hues

an earnest assurance

goodness cannot be

truly overcome

You were,
to me,
more heady
than the finest wines of France.

You were,
to me,
exemplary;
an unexpected innocence.

I can feel my heart
beating against its cage
like a couple missionaries
dressed and pressed
at my door on Saturday
eager to explain to me
the queue into heaven and say
nothing of God

it's night
or morning?
Some muted twilight
seeping through the shades
in a season between the
wholesome seasons
where it's too hot for closed windows
too cold for open ones

I have to measure my
fingers against the bottle
having long stopped counting
the drinks that are downed

I remember you
a bit
the best parts of our
scant fifty-two together

that night
maybe amid the seasons
where the clock sets
all wrong against the
charcoal skies,
but that night,
you bit me

I still feel it pulsing,
electric in my veins

abandon caution
the moment I began my trespass
the way you meticulously attacked
every sense I knew

peeling away all these
unnecessary layers
as the shadows were already
heavy enough
but peeling away
every apprehension
simply to press against you
and let, like butter,

my tongue melt

on your tender skin

In between
Dusky alleyways
Hang strings of the
Monday morning wash.

Here wealth and without
Are thus reconciled
By this common chore,

Strung up at either side
Of the bone-broth shop
And the opulent five-star