Ungentle with a Gentle Boy
This morning the sun shines as it never has--
and I don't feel like staying in my skin.
This morning it is springtime. And why shouldn't it be?
It is slowly stripping off its underthings and dancing.
Strength fills the cavities of my disgrace:
my hot hand forcefully caressing butterflies;
my rash desire holding roses hard to me until
our colors mix;
throwing too much brush on top of the fire;
and the civilized kiss he dipped to give me as he hovered
flat above me, me flat, hovering too,
across the four trunked tree,
and my uncivilized mouth biting off the tameness of the kiss
and spitting it at him.
Therefore, this morning I run up the mountain
as I never have, panting with more breath than I should take,
breathing out with vengence at the subtle deer.
Other animals go by, and hearing
my rough footsteps, their eyes spit
out love at me, because this feeling, so uncivilized,
is the sunburnt skin of love and about to take
its underthings off, hotly dancing.
This morning the sun shines as it never has: and I
don't feel like staying by myself inside my skin. |