To the Man Who Loves Acai

I've been thinking thinking I'm always thinking.
         and you say you haven’t been living

open your eyes;
                   what can i say?
it’s brighter than everything you are;
and what you are is all there is
and what you are is what you make it

         this is it;
                   -you’re living you’re dying.
-- this is all i can give you.

and the painting with the word someday
         makes me wonder

i want to cry when I see it

         because that’s what you’ll say

my age plus seven; you’re so much older
         but that doesn’t scare me
         you don’t scare me

if you’re gonna hurt me hurt me;
         i’d revel in your bruises
         blacken my eyes and make me sing
         while I lap the blood from my lips
         thirsty like an infant and you’re beautiful

                   and I don’t understand you; you’re impossible to figure out
                             [like the darkest part of the ocean where the water is murky and i can’t see my feet]

i’m young and you know this
         when i was born you could probably already read, and spell your name, sing the ABCs
                                                                                     i was taking my first breath

eating Chinese that one night-you’re the ox, i’m the ram
         1985 vs. 1991
                   i’m not scared
                   your eyes were big. you might be

but your hand,
         on the small of my back contradicts you, hot and unrelenting and

                   then my heart is fluttering frantically
                             [like a caged bird-how cliché]

and your body pressed firm and warm against mine
                   and iwantyouiwantyouiwantyouiwantyou

when you pull away your eyes
                             ignite me

thisiswrongthisiswrong
         but my mind is singing with surrender
no one has to know

you’re racing the clock while I’m begging it faster;
         desperate times call for desperate measures

and i am convinced that when you look me in the eyes a second longer
         than necessary
         you are picturing me
                   naked
                             in your bed
                                       bathed in the morning sun

and i don’t mind that.

i always seem to find the artist
        -the tattoo on the soft skin of your left wrist representstheopticalpowerofacameralenseofacertainmagnitude

you know so much more than me;
         i’m in constant awe-inspired silence

take me to bed and show me
         everything that i don’t know
                   with your gentle callused hands
                   and soft-spoken lips

                   ;; take me to your world

breathe through my mouth and
i’ll see through your eyes

and that everpersistenthand will have an entirely different reason
                                                           to hold on

weave your fingers through my hair
and tell me i’m beautiful
i’ll put my hand over your mouth;

         your love sounds are the only thing i want to remember
         so raw and so pure
                             that it hurts
                   i can’t meet the honesty of your eyes

and i don’t want to know whose
                   bed you last fell into

i just want to take this as it is

         no façade; just honesty. just pain. and maybe hope.

i have a right to
         scare you a little

i’m never expected but always welcome
         never what you’d think

so like i said
         this is all there is;
         all there could be

you’re name’s like a song—
         this is more than enough