We lunched in my quiet kitchen
I moved my chair closer to yours,
at the corner by the back door
a casual moment, almost normal
I rubbed the fingers that touched my skin in earnest joy
moments before, I study the familiar shape,
the cuts, with warmth they charm me –
hold them, feel them while I still can
but the man who allows it is a kind of a blank.
I watched you naked above me
your face on an inward bound course reveal:
for all intents and purposes, but one, the man’s a stranger.
you curled around me, oh the joy,
I held on like you’re the only one, right here right now,
and when you go I wonder why you came,
or why you stayed for lunch, why you will be back another time.
There is an answer, in the basement of my thoughts
where I don’t go to look, the smell is quite unpleasant there.
not unlike in those L. Cohen songs I loved to hear
when I was young they gave my heart strings a sweet tug,
and you – you did that too when I was not yet old.
the curl in my soul is almost lost,
like a healed muscle pulled in error
when I wanted to be graceful,
I know where it is, you leave a trace,
though you aim to be that stranger.