BROOKLYN COPELAND
from THE FRAILTIES
Fast as any natural softness tamed late: love disintegrates.
Baby-sable, cupped in your capable hands: is a fragile frame,
is a skeleton a-sudden, then its stencilself upflung
towards a fixed onyx domicile, a constellation: is love.
Love's quick,
and you didn't even try to predict.
So don't pretend you did.
We'd locked ourselves in that black ice room,
in that time capsule gloom, with gloves for boxing, box
knives, top shelf booze (your doing), and music
of some denim-frayed and droning kind (I think) and from
hour one ours was a night death, and from hour one
the word irreconcilable was on the tip of your bitten
yellow tongue. Though, you never followed
through: you were too drunk.
Each apology,
an avalanche:
snowballs
rolling
hellward.
I'm an insect yoked to a leaf stem,
and you may add husband
to your list of helms
abandoned.
The first time
you told me, your tongue
moved slowly, and my eyes
drifted to (honest to
God) Montgomery Clift
behind your head,
and the last time
you told
me, your tongue moved
rapidly: I teetered for ten
minutes on the brink
of understanding.
I finally understood
so hard I laughed
so hard I cried.
You couldn't see in terms of weighted phrases sinking in
the beery fizz. You couldn't read my notes,
like tiny open sores bleeding all down
my loose leaf. "Peasegood Nonsuch?"
you repeated, snapping the ugly
lump from its laden branch.
"You don't spell it; you eat it."
I wrote on the pro-side, "Knows names
of apple types." Your knacks and store of facts
always bought a little more time.
seeding wholly
fair clouds to
make rain. You:
washing your hands
with me and re-brushing
your teeth and smiling
exasperatedly
as I pull on fresh
panties. I: can't
sleep with the sex
smells. You: the same
gray jeans,
black hoodie, the same
tourmaline eyeshade,
the exact same
inexhaustible
lust. It's no stretch to
say it's possible I know
more than you
about:
you.
Sat down just now
to write my requiem
on a hairpin
turn.
Meanwhile,
let's see how much I can get
for this (with this
ring, thee, I)
and now, I'm writing
goodbye,
love. Till you try
me again,
goodbye.