Mission: Improbable, p6

[gram_negative]

I've agonized over this one, a bit, because I was worried that you, my dear Katherine, wouldn't understand, and would think it was some bizarre, roundabout way of hitting on you. It's not that I doubt your ability to understand metaphor, I just don't want there to be that little lingering doubt that might make things uncomfortable. Then I was like "fuck it. I like it, and it's exactly the poem I intended to write, and I would do both of us a disservice by trying to dumb it down and/or over-explain that it's about...well, if she can't figure out what it's about, she'll just have to exert a little effort. She is in college, after all."

-=-

Skin (for Katherine Rose)

we stay up late, standing
at our darkened windows
desperately disrobing,
hoping for a roaming eye

all day long, we sign
in secret signals with our hands,
"these words are only secondary
to what I have to say, but i

must justify my body to my mind,
explain my mind to my blood--i must apply
purpose to my passion, though I know

that we are born, unreasoning,
in fire, and with fire
our covenant was made,
and thus we shape the world"

we wear words like "why"
like awkward Sunday clothes,
and set ourselves about
the business of being stones

but we are always finding ways,
secretly showing skin
always undoing buttons,
hoping for a fire.