DarkBrightPittens

DarkBrightPittens

I mistook a garbage truck for thunder.

The morning after the first night we made love,

I dreamt thunder was chasing rain

through your neighborhood,

flooding the streets and keeping the two of us

indoors for days or even weeks,

until some old prophet could drop, by in an ark,

to take us and the rest of the paired-up animals

to a very high place, or an island maybe,

where we could just

sleep naked for a living.

But the thunder was a garbage truck.

And when my eyes woke up

a note on your pillow said:

"Good morning, Sparkle Boy!

I'll be back around noon.

You--make yourself at home."

And so I did.

Maybe.

I'm saying maybe I put on your slippers,

which were as comfortable as bunnies

because they were bunnies,

and then shuffled over my new favorite

hardwood floor to the bathroom

where maybe I took a bubble bath,

which is not something I can do at my place

because, frankly, my tub is way too skanky

to ever sit my bare ass down in.

And then maybe I got so caught up in the romance of the suds

I started quoting old Latin poetry from my college days

like: "fulsere quondam candidi tibi soles..."

You know: "Verily a bright sun does favor me this morning...muthafucka!"

And then maybe I...played with myself.

But it’s not what you’re thinking--

I’m saying possibly I just sorta

stuck my hand up from the water, going:

hand!(HERE I HOLD MY HAND UP LIKE A SOCK PUPPET

hand!WITHOUT THE SOCK AND MY HAND TEASES ME

hand!IN A HIGH, SMUTTY VOICE):

HAND: "Somebody got laid last night!

Ha-ha-haaaa!

It was youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!"

Or whatever.

And then maybe I...played with myself,

and it's exactly what you're thinking.

But if I did, it was only to put

the mental motion picture of our naked night together

on replay and replay and replay

so touching myself was just like...

Tivo in a way.

And yes, I was still wet when I borrowed your bathrobe.

And yes, I baked apples in your oven

and then ate them with your honey, honey.

And yes, I scared the birds away from your balcony

with my antics, dancing full-blast

to your old Prince CD's--

but please let’s just keep that my little secret,

because nothing is as private as a solitary dance

unless--maybe--it's standing in front of a full-length mirror

in a borrowed pair of bunny slippers,

slipping off a bathrobe and then wishing to a lightbulb

that my name, or my game, or my whatever were bigger,

wondering: "What kind of woman wants this skinny kid for her warrior?"

And so I made for you a kite, enormous,

out of coat hangers, brown paper bags

and the masking tape from that drawer in your kitchen,

and I hung it in the hallway

where you couldn’t hardly miss it,

and I tagged that kite with my words,

I wrote:

Just so you know--



My weird mind wanders and my brave heart breaks.

I've nailed some milestones, but I've made mistakes,

Cuz I got more faults than a map of California earthquakes.



I am taking a nap beneath your covers.

Wake me if you like me.

Wake me if you want me

Wake me if you need another poem.



Your once and future lover

has made himself at home

-----------------------------------------------------

he is most definitely one of my favorite poets

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