Not Saints Ars Poetica

where did he go

the beautiful boy
with long dark hair and beard
freshly cut blood red lips
true brown eyes

casting such a spell on me
I would give away the first born
I never had
to give away

to be his spygirl
on a secret mission to unearth
the real reason we want
to ruin everything by touching

warm skin on warm skin

the beautiful boy
who shouts

an eye for an eye
leaves the whole world blind

at a peace rally
on the steps
to Northrop Auditorium
less than a month after 9/11

emcees an erotic poetry slam
in an Irish pub where old wine
and new whiskey flow
on a bitter cold Valentine’s Day night

reappears for a sober reunion
in a church basement
soon knocking scraps of exquisite corpse
off the bed with me

warmer skin on warmer skin

the beautiful boy
16 years later
the age I was then
rumors of being found and scrubbed clean

a cellar door slams shut
the blood no longer so red
seeps into the warmest fibers
of the margin

where I have sidelined myself
to savor each stained word
of another narrow escape
near miss / enough

material finally gathered
to do this thing
Annie please say yes
to this lost beautiful boy

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