in the Quarter

for now, we’ll breakfast on remoulade with violins,
our lips lush with lies and grenadine. let Paris kiss the feet of New Orleans.
pretty women with skirts that reach for their knees
twirl wickedly at the sky. cigar smoke teases rose-colored light.
duty soon will call us through her tropical hourglass, counting our names
like the grains of sand inside.

doors creak open under water while birdsong pilfers your ear for a nest.
turning to this morning’s third dawn, you mention a lover who complained of your stingy kisses. be her, you ask. wail for my mouth til I beat you. then you may suck my tongue.
I had been frightened that first time. dildo snug, lube in hand— I felt the amateur again, your voice spinning me invisible.

that afternoon I found you in Madrid— your blood wouldn’t wait on nobody’s siesta, they’d better come out and sell you some pads—that afternoon I’d been ill-equipped. it was orange leather then, not the strawberry suede cat-of-nine you lately prefer. three of these months that yawn like plump kittens and I’m clutching for my sanity the way you wrench the sheets when I’m precise.

machete is our music, pianissimo the cut. I sing into the dip between shoulder and spine. elucidate the nape. how the belly infuses the barren palm. hallow, hollow, shaved and slit. become my oven and terra cotta me until we see the sun. fingers pruning what your suddenness has sown. do not, do not loosen. do not bend.

I want to tell you something about myself, I admit between gasps, and this I cannot say to a stranger. you twist the apricot of my upper thigh, by way of reply. the bruise will last for weeks. I knew I could not keep a pact of anonymity. succumbing. you un-promise yourself as well. Tequila, you are called. Tequila Brown.

Lib(er)ation

gaggle a bones
pocket fulla holes
chain gang roster
my name in bold
face tight, windows
wide shut.
transfer
(dancer)
all your days is done
asphalt head, tv dinner
no barracuda nothin.
justice.
strange as lightning
these poem days
a quicksilver lexicon

burnin for a kiss, a jump
the broom kind
of long nite’s promise
‘cause tonite we
may be sent
away and away
and gone, baby