Evening Will Come: A Monthly Journal of Poetics (Issue 24, December 2012—Trans / Queer Issue)



  i want to

  lay her in

  places deep in me

 in others

  i feel her


 already but here

  in this one

may she ever be


 and ever be


there is

such  poise

 even in her


 as for me

there is one

 hand with

 fingers stretched

toward touching her

and another waving caution



 she chokes

 my lingering step

and i reach

her like a wall

 my fingertips press

 then flinch aside

glancing  from her

 left hip  her sigh

 you’re killing me sweet

baby she says

 you murdered me


i dream her lost

to all both nights

of last acts

 last paces  peeling apart

 a cellophane

and brazen kiss

the unfolding knife-

 creased pages

  and then

 the folding

 finally away