oh longed-for, awaited beloved. she says my name
wrong and makes me come hard. i catalog
lovers like this, coins in kitchen water. six years on,
type thirsty into google translate and feel almost nothing.
some death, the mistranslation of need. in my third or fourth iteration,
somewhere near my saturn return i can’t let go: despite it all,
i want to be your midwest boyfriend.
will you tell me what to do?
will you buy in to me
coming at you in my best and breezing flannel
bare chested and soft handed, grazing my hands
across the wind and corn can you see it?
me, on the cover of esquire, perched on a ’97 chevy just so
ready to help you change your tire, me, on the cover
of vogue, blooming in a bearish kind of way that makes
all the girls at north ridge high sigh
don’t you love how she leans?
have i stranged? consider the coolness of a resurrection
in language, my love, for what the word swallow does to
mouths, makes us reach for each thing behind the light
all peaks in the back of wanting—I am a beast of desire.
are you a place i can live in my tallest body
on either side of an ocean, my name
singing from your highs, all whole.