Are you real? Really there?
Do you feel? Show your heart, bare?
Your arms, unfelt, enfold. Sweet kisses thrown in the air blow
warm, heating my cold. We make love untouched by hands or skin
in these rooms. Invite none in.
I think, hope we are alone
in soul-song circled as one, my true, new love. Honeyed bone
blinded love will eat, sucking hope from paltry bits of meat.
Are you there? Really you?
Are you bare? Heart lovesick too?
You nudge, weedle and need, push hard for me; a wooded glade
of stolen romance shades with sugar’d words, exactly laid.
Stonework. Paved lust steps concrete
me, laying me down, replete.
Sated we are two again. And I can only think of
you, and who you really are: do you think of me, love?
Who are you? Perhaps it’s you
that’s a fisher: bait that few
so sick and small as I could resist. Dewy words untrue,
I Know, yet still reel me in unresisting: love undue
wrench’d for nought from such as me.
Witless fish. Hooked from your sea
I flap and flail, bleed salt from my gills, breathing brine no more.
Angled in, fallen. Do I know yet, will I know what for?
Am I caught? Sliced up, pieced
in bits, stewed slow, soft to eat.
I took your hook, that is true. Loved your bait, also true too.
I knew when I bit that the worm was false, yet scooped still through
my fishy mouth. Hope belonged.
Foolish blind fish: hope’s rebound.
Stupid fish. Fishermen eat, don’t Love their fish. You’re at most
a meal to be cooked and de-boned. They’ll eat, drink you a toast:
“Thank you, fish, for your fish love, your fish trust, your fish honey.”