They Do Puzzles and Each Other

[whitestripescd]

She laughed when the Godfather died
and when the grandson sprayed
him with pesticides in the garden.
You laugh as well,

at the spaceman in the tight white and pink
leather outfit, and his angular movements.
If he left outer space and bounty hunting he'd hear you
breathe, lying beside her, connecting pieces of unicorns,
sunsets, and the edges of a cliff over the meadow.

The edges of the puzzle pieces are like
the spaceman with triangle eyes.
Supple curves with the biting joints of elbows,
knees, and a powerful fist.
The unicorn within the connected picture
refracts the setting sun off it's protruding horn.

At night she sleeps in your bed
in the hidden nook of an apartment complex
with the completed puzzle at the foot of your bed.
On the other side of the gloss and cardboard on the floor
there is a night as well, tickled by the tips of carpet and
in the fabric stars could be a place where the spaceman
could be making puzzles too. But you'd say he'd be with a man.

You and her are like jigsaw puzzles;
interlocking pieces that meet at night,
much like the spaceman up in the stars
with the unicorn, breaking light into ribbons.
Built of glossy memories and cardboard backs
you two share joints and curves

in the rectangle bed
interlocking
with the rest of the apartment.
The Godfather could smile,
drenched in chemicals

if you'd only find matching edges
outside of your bedroom. If you'd
find a new puzzle without gloss
and cardboard to fit together.

dedicated to Luke