2011

 

 

I still remember the dress you wore when we caught the cab uptown, with that split of sexual

mosaic. I swear, I didn't see anything moving but the salve of your habituate imbrication.(?)

I kept saying, I was a man just for looking, which was like claiming to be colorized from black

and white film. But if you turn maid as moss-rose, pout, and be known only for your showy

flowers, I shall call you old-fashioned in your pink curves.

 

We ended up at the River Walk in downtown Detroit, brushing away fish-flies from my

seersucker suit.

I matched, you didn't.

As such, moon, the whole white-paper in this otherwise notable black sky.

You called me insane,

intervivous to want you

in this summer season

when just this past

winter I called someone

else my love.

 

An internship, that was all; just learning loves profession.

As crazy persons sensitize the seasons:

first the dew on the arms of your mothers plastic lawn chairs.

second, the two Chicklets that danced and danced then melted

in my front jean pocket.

then, my open palm for your

blind hand

or  the seed regimen

of cooling waters.

Reviews

[Audrey Howitt]

Loved this--made me feel and see the heat and the sex--with Emily--this is damn fine poetry

[Emily B]

oh, damn, it's intricate and beautiful and a little sweaty, but damn fine poetry