Monday, October 16, 2006

when

i'm quick, and rather easy, holding nothing from your eye,
i've given all my secrets to the rowdy lads, tossed my monies
in the air, so i can find my quiet shadow, for you should never

leave your bruises in the sun, they are ungenerous to a fault,
but in the dark they're little tricksters, yes, little fibbers all,
and make me full up with mysteries, worthy of a minute

from your time, and tomorrow i will be young, again,
a siren, again, pubescent scented, an anxious and
fallow field, again, summer-faced down in dallier's lane,

bare footed, bare necked, some sweat beneath your sheets,
asleep unseen beside you, and so you'll follow me,
tomorrow, and i will dance that phoenix rumba gig

in a butchy boy finale, and perhaps you'll love me,

when i'm young

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