And remember, gentle maxim,
market provocation, never get
her flowers, spotlight ricochet
off something shining,
hard-edged, get her something
that lasts, the audience
nods and murmurs, only
nine easy payments, I
recall the years of
lonely wanting, hands in
fidgets at the edge of a
dance circle not designed
for me, the startle
of that first kiss, tearing
clothing loose, panic
attack discovery, wrenching
limbs, clumsy lust, chests
heaving in the after, nothing
like it looked in porn, those
months of sheltering a
burgeoning love from
the world’s harsh god and
his brutalities, secret
languages for I love you,
three taps, hand outstretched
against sternum, all
those years and years
ago, survival a matter
of holding our breath, so
give me the crush of dying,
lovely things, adorn my
table with something that
will fall, fade, curl toward
an earth that birthed
it, we are transience,
yearning for eternity but
learning to be beautiful
instead, the remarkable,
unfathomable interim,
unlikely impermanence, but
what a wondrous flash.
michael king 