linguistics of a first date

in your language you
 
speak of thighs bereft of 

kindling, eyes drawn in

too quickly by the weight

& light of storms.

polysyllabic recapitulations scrying

over your teeth, vying for attention;

tongue bent

& bending & continuing to

bend. the music. i see & sense it--the scroll of your smoke;

i feel your air, & your belly's fire

& your internal waters warring

for recognition. soliciting affection. silently demanding my submission. 

transgression into successful transitions

for asking stupid questions like: "so, tell me your life story..."

commanding every bit of--

my god.

where do you come from?




all 	       awkward      phrases

am i

kumquats & rubies

lips pontificating rumors of draining tumors 

on the brains of dying fathers;

ex-lovers; knowing when itıs over. lathering up the throat &

o o z i n g  forth in

bullets

like snapping bull whips,

popping crickets in iron skillets which

weigh down my uvula

and clang out 		           distraction... 

earthbound & heavy sentences with too many modifiers

adjectives & comma splices

confusing semantics & trading wordcraft

for sythentisity(tm).

i'll try again to speak & be understood.

i'll try to not say anything else stupid. 

take in

deep breath

& exhale.




in your language

you sing refrains of concupiscent silence

& i know the tick & time of you...

without understanding the words.

the lexicon of lust is that of fumbling:	   a finger purposely misplaced

a prudent touch, a furtive whiff of nape

of neck

or bone

or hip

connecting under a table in a crowded restaurant.

connecting through clinking silverware & the tension in the atmosphere.

"give it time," i say to myself. 

yes.




in time

we'll learn 

to speak

the other's 

language.

• Chy Ryan Spain

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