BACK
OLEV EPMO
j.r. pearson
Your hips look like my bass guitar
but forces demand
the crane of your neck
& the resin of hair
be chords of jazz on Sunday afternoon.
Can I say:
the way you curl your hair behind
your ear is cinematic?
Without:
A river. A conch. Swift gold of the Atlantic.
Somewhere Silliman is laughing.
Stroking his stuffed wildcat.
I would like to write
"I love you my love."
and "You, are, gorgeous" with an exclamation point,
but that would be "tell"
even after I shoot Pound in the face,
roll his body into the sea.
Can we deconstruct
this alphabetic for a moment?
place your hand on my bare chest
mine on yours
now let my black iris be all there is
know
after the kungfu master tears
out my beatBEATing heart
I will be your shivering eyelashes when you sleep
fall like a rain of lips from a porcelain sky
(c) 2008 by J.R. Pearson