It’s been So many days since I last came to you
On my knees, on my back, asking please,
Please for giving me a curve, a kiss,
A series of consonants connected with vowels,
Even howls into myself like a dry wolf
Hoarse with hells and highs to only bell-curve
And belly-up, I pause. Stop. So.
It’s been So many days since I last thought of you,
Caught you between my fingers like fireflies,
Lighting up each twinkle-tarsalled toca-toca:
Your cockatoo knocking at your elaborate door.
Determined, cresting, anxious: More, I say,
More and more; you must, make me, make more,
And made up, I wake. Stare up. So.
It’s been So many days since I saw you
Haunting the moth-holes in my memories.
At the temptation of your name, I toss,
I fill with taste and tar. You gum the gun
I goad my hand to pull; shot; run.
But you run ahead, body bound to blaze
And burned up, I stay. Naked. So.