I must see you; let’s meet at the fringes of respectability
at quarter past nine. We could straddle the oft-licked
curb, it’s the repetition we like. I promise not to say
anything louche and you will buss the backs of my fingers.
What is that noise coming from the other side of the river
maybe pavement being set perfectly straight, or a woozy guitar.
In light like this we become automatic and can reach each other
what a difficult noise to hold and clearly making love is all that.
Juiced, I’m sure we’re taller than before and don’t miss
what we’ve lost track of. All the while, the streetlights blush
in their frugal globes as if they could tell how the party towed us
along like a chain of rollerblade kids latched onto a bus.
If you want, we can go swimming down by the electrical plant
since, as you know, the water runs out warmest from its pipes.
Bring on the horse tranquilizers
for my listing heart is pecker-fretted, truculent and true.
Mark Bibbins and Nerve.com