Oh dross,
dappled with dew.
It is colder again
and you come
in rapid bursts.
Reciprocity until
the point of shaking.
Us trying to get in
the other through
blunt force
on the front. You
lay there limpid,
going about like a
tidal pool grass might.
And then you
did night
for a long time.
Imagine being a
schmuck, sitting
in the grass and gravel
on the side of a road
'cause you're lost.
Take out a cigarette
and smoke it, and
wait to go home.
Fuss over the
boy with the cellphone.
Mothering until
the point that mothering's
debated in small groups.
(It does not look alright)
I do not know if you're
lounging on
that bed of moss
with sex in the air,
or plastered there;
stricken with loss;
just making lists
in your head. Maybe
both is accurate.
