Carefully Waiting for Carly Rae Jepsen to Knock on My Door and Whisper, Muse-like, "Run Away With Me".

Run away with me. We

Could glimpse at new starlight. Stretch

The cold world into hand-hold. Kiss

Like that first album of yours I hated. Love

Like the second that is my life. Now

That we are into each other, we fold. Into

And like fresh life, we gasp at our newness. Young

And with the green betwen our heels. Heel

Kick like Annie Hall sings. Before

That fatal touch, the revelation. We

Might be different and less dark. You

could ask me first and I would say yes. I

couldn't say no and my hand. It

wouldn't move without you. Your

Golden archaic eighties Apollo. Torsos

Like yours dance timeless. I

Must change my life. Rilke

Would agree with me. He

Would write about your beautiful. And

How beautiful you are. And

These headphones another Helicon. My

Pen another. Song.

Poem.

Are There More Beautiful Things Than Solange.

(after Morgan Parker)

The sky, the fucking sky, she says, and I say
But she is the moon, so of course the sky, the fucking sky

To witness it is in itself communion is holy a blessing
Yes, the mouth is a wound, but the air is canvas

A cruel vermillion you put upon it, haematite kiss
To close the distance, this is where I will find you again, sister

-- If you move like this one more time then of course I'll come
Join you. My sterile feet don't flow like yours; soaked

In so much bleach like clean, clean teeth: white
Is the cruelest colour, this we know and knew

But I loved them all the same those pale Gods, Godivas
Their songs with strange universals like the sky, the fucking sky

And since you said that I am sure I understood, I am sure
That when the black of you is heavy I can see your slowness

And yes, that sky, that fucking sky, because it is not heavy
And it was there in the fields with the cotton the snow and your blood your hair