wondering if your back is the firmament i
seek
your eyes the range of true emotions
bright and clean and painful
if i can ever stop smiling when i get hurt
and you can pick up the pieces without
rearranging them
to suit yourself. wondering if i can dig deep
your arms your thighs sturdy but
are you sturdy enough to survive
any bruises i may leave behind?
fuck it. it's not the time to care so much
as it is the time to be pickled in your fine
wine
and charting zigzags across your
archipelagos
eyes closed and bright sparks in the night

- 2/96, written in response to an NYU/ITP article