he told me she was like a cat, she loved cats but he was not a cat person
he said she never cried or showed signs of weakness; maybe deep down
he wanted to become like her _ and maybe he did _ maybe he did
he'd say one thing and I'd hearthe moon shudder, my bones whistled
I imagine his laughter
stunning a bird, tilting a window frame, locking
a hundred mouth-sized doors.
I think it was David Blaine, the magician,who told Harrison Ford to pick a card
that ended up being inside a fresh pear
in Ford’s own bowl of fruit in his own kitchen,
cut out by his own hands with his own knife,
that made Harrison say,
“Get the fuck out of my house.”
It’s not that I could find and touch
places on his skin he tried to hide,
places he most wanted touched…
places that drove him wild and black,
it’s that I reached inside an ordinary place,
a place he had never considered erogenous,
and pulled his heart out, still beating…
I am tied and taken
by the touch of his hands,
by the slap in the sky that his eyes strike.
Tongue. Boneless, yet it can break one’s bones.