November
My calendar says it’s almost November—
how is that possible?
My sheets are still warm from your limbs,
back in August and July.
Santa Monica is a drive away,
but must be windy nowadays.
You walk along the shore;
you look taller in October.
Steadfastly,
steadfastly—
is it you leaving,
or is it my heart pounding?
And the waves whisper—
same old story,
different lines.
Maybe and Maybe
Maybe we will get ice cream
Maybe we will fall in love
Maybe we will fuck it up
Maybe we will do all the things above
When I say maybe,
I mean, “Yes, love,
please, please, please,
please, love.”
When you say maybe,
you mean, “Slow down, honey.
Soon enough,
we will try it all out.
So why don’t you
put your hands
on my hips
and kiss me now.”
Soap
You put soap on me
washing my back
like a real daddy.
I put soap on you
only to go through
every hair of your
body.