i occasionally dig through old notebooks and folders and find pieces of writing that startle me for how young i was when i wrote them. this is another such recently unearthed scribbling – july 2003

watching

The sunrise through glass blocks
bent and broken bits of light
falling on your body
painting you a slumbering Adonis in my bed

It’s 6am and your back is turned
I tried all night
pushed and pulled
submitted to your drunken lust
and laid awake

You don’t quite snore
A purr I might find comforting
if I were your wife

Tossed and turned
tried to lift the boulder of your arm
like the bicep of Atlas
to place it over my waist
I wanted to fold into you

but not you really
Because you are only blood and bones
Miles of chocolate skin stretched taut over muscles
like a drum
And that is nothing
emptiness when I want to be held

If I could pull you into me any other way I would
but I settle for this every time