|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
|So You’re In Love
Damon Ferrell Marbut
Tell me of the tattoo across his chest
as though I haven’t seen it in your pictures,
how the sharp sword’s edge near the bend
beneath his arm pierces your temple
when he brings you to bed,
how the sweat of him becomes
the tears of you, and I will call you out.
There is no bone plate, no split of the cell
that will name him yours by touching
his chin with your tongue.
Care to talk of fire instead?
Invite yourself to the curve below his navel
and send him somewhere he’d call Heaven
if he could speak.
Do it with your body, your elbow at his knee,
unfold and then fold him,
an accordion of flesh,
put the rosary of your knuckles
against his back’s small, bead for bead,
and labor for it, labor for the moan
of coming or of wanting to come.
Love him geographically,
or like a saint before sainthood,
press your cupped mouth at his inner thigh
and give his frantic leg your grin,
graze a drifting rib with the freckle
past your heel, swim over him,
angrily, as if he’d left and returned,
assail the moment of his making
and then make him, darling,
make him do what I want done to me.
About Damon Ferrell Marbut