that snarl you bring —
all the way from your chair.
Please the world to take me out.
All that’s left is you
working that chin.
First you, then me.
Roll over, check out the wall.
You got a nice one.
So do I.
But, the cool round of your bum
came to me like wham in a dream.
You took me without question.
We fucked for three months
just to get the smell of it.
With you and me, every liquid is netted
to constrain the light.
Even oatmeal gets complicated.
You know me, I don’t go in for half-assed
The ink you autographed on my insides
has long since dried.
I have dragged every part of myself
down the street, up the stairs, fingered the cracks—
Dude, I followed you from the ‘L’,
up that side street off Addison,
birds screamed, man.
That word —
Your hand on my throat
is the closest
we ever get to saying
thom vernon is a writer, actor, and educator causing trouble in Fredericton. See thomvernon.com for more.