How glamorous, love
in the early hours, amorous, so
lovely to wake up wanted, wanting,
revel in gold-soaked reflection, to be
all possibility, all tender flesh
and wet-lipped gasp, rumpled
blankets and ordering Thai, fuck it,
answer the door naked, grin my
thanks through the crack and
turn back, winking, watching
pupils dilate, all the stories
brand new and the audience bare,
what a time, being all adventure
and no labor – all magic, no mess.
Harrowing is the crash,
egos flail in the fall, fingernails
scrape for their pound of flesh,
every mirror in the house warping
at once, now I am all my flaws
out loud: so stubborn, so needy, so
convinced I am right, and
don’t forget the way I ruined
the very best nights, everyone says,
everyone whispers how ugly,
how broken I turned out, but,
oh, I’ve got stories, too, vivid
the prose that bears your thorns,
take a look, laugh in horror,
echoed against funhouse walls.
Sing along, you know this
chorus: we say we said things
we didn’t mean (we meant them),
in the loving, bruising, shattering,
shedding, rediscovery on that
morning, long-awaited, where you
first broke into laughter, the epiphany
you’ve missed that sound, the
rinse of letting go, but love
changes the color, lovers leave,
leaving stains in their wake, and
how lovely, how harrowing,
to bask in that threadbare mosaic.
michael king 