listen-out, i’m dust

someday there is going to be a big yard and i will beat you to it,
bathe beneath a tree or a breathing body of light but
live alone; lick myself clean like a cat. for you’d hate that. anything scratchy
there’s no excuse now

or to drink from a man’s mouth;
you once said all that matters is what’s on  the menu — i study it now, and nowhere do i eat from except the table you didn’t dare dream of, for you knew there was nothing out there — not to please your tastes anyway, so instead treating jealousy to a joint

but listen-out, i’m dust and your darling baby; can i descend to the sea?

erratically, you allow yourself to be mine too, squeezing lungs when we get together, we seldom make enough mistakes to bypass precursory offences in a matter of minutes; except when i dress-down for dinner at yours. you forget to swallow

still, we never attempt to fail more than less than we need,
and i didn’t need you to make our endless beginning’s meet, or endure the ending of it

i just needed you to listen to my chest at night and make a pop sound with your lips smacking at each beat

perhaps if you’d come to me from behind, and had you broken misery’s grip upon my neck
turned me corpse-like; like you or it?

you knew meanings of words were wasted on me, but so were the pleats in my side, in my seat and i’m running out of words, so let me hear you speak again; i’ll make you feel something, or try to forget forgiving grief to fit you in into that pocket-sized space in the soles of my feet. carving out your heart seems tiresome, but reaching for the rowboat is rich attraction.

and you can’t say no  because by night, 
it will have long-since fallen. like the dove  at your doorstep; masked by meaning
so you won’t see. because it is already something else
  		it belongs already
so don’t ask what it means when i’m  sunken from the rooftop and resting into the sail.
clenching in and out of the mold  closing my throat 	the flesh of family  frozen, over the county lines.
recurring  	there lies a darkness in dream  
where they have truth too  and light brings great unhappiness  
it’s like, it’s like
  		yes, unspeakable  not even the horseman  is able to blink out the eyelash, this ride  over the rising sun. 
we used to want  		the moon but learnt it  	was always quiet  
so the love just came back  
and did you ask me  	what i meant  when i told you about the women  on my wall, 
and how they  are all so much more striking than i  and more beautiful too?
        	i’ve been counting up the sheep, wondering  	which ones to herd come morning  		
it does not help to sleep, for i am in mourning that birds sing loud  even on the moon.

there is a whirring within the ground
stop and listen 
think of the drill that feels similarly within  you
and your god 	awful lamb, that  	i am so jealous of
  		the way i coil is not to be followed  but i’d come right to the edge of you  	
and slip up under the shame of  my own singing voice.