My love lies in the pale pastel glow
At night, a lamp's on,
pointing to the corner, as
we speak of light subjects with our eyes always open.
"Can't have a dark corner in our room," he says.
We let corners of our minds lie in the dark.
Somehow we're cruise ships
with too many chances to lounge
around outsides the raiding zones.
Some call it life--
we call it fortune.
We can seal our regrets
in mason jars and kiss until
we find ourselves naked.
A sea of sheets swallows us
whole, then everything
even our shadows,
even reflections, even speech and mascara smears.
You smile. I brush the hair from my eyes.
The sole purpose of delicious things is to save us,
so I smoke a cigarette and
you make popcorn.
I think for a moment that I smell soapberry,
but I realize it's only butter
and we're no where near the tropics.
French is a beautiful and terrifying language,
learning it wouldn't change anything
except we could speak
the art of facing our own ecstasies
and become the thing that is larger than ourselves.