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February 25, 2021 Poetry

Two Poems

Gardner Dorton

Two Poems photo

Three Boys

after the painting by Salman Toor

You’re slacked over,
feathered in your own brilliance,
my grip on your body loosening.
I am the curly haired
farm boy, your boy.
You bite my pearl-pierced ear
and it falls off like a pear halve.
It falls off like a Eucharist.
I promise no redemption.
I promise no drop of water
for your parched tongue,
no sweat wrung from my button up.
I am a pool of non-excellence.
I am the border of your photograph.

 

 

Phone Sex

As far as he knows I am reaching for this,
and as far as I know he is reaching for that.

I touch my gold libido while fruit
rots in the kitchen. Together we smear

our personhoods until we exist in two
separate places. I’m learning about desire

and its off-axis gospel. I’m learning
to forget you and your impossible reciprocation.

I’m forgetting the smell of thyme on
your skin and the woman who loves it like I do.

I survive by forgetting,
and by voices of strangers coming elsewhere.

 

 

image: Laura Brun


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