One Night Stand
Inside my meandering mask of surety,
I'm quivering at the uncut nails
As fog descends on lustrous April nights
Outside my bedroom window.
It is someone's daughter's room;
A package I am attempting lackadaisically to refill
With my polystyrene overflowing words.
It's slow, it's steady
In thirteen thousand nerves.
It's a recipe; it isn't tasteful, perhaps,
But like sure cement on bricks, we grip the walls.
Eye contact as the humid breaths of spring
Leave soft bathing waters on transparent windows
Shielded only by the ragged remainders of an innocent child.
I held, like a buttercup, a ship in a bottle
Those types you get on cruises
But I lost it like the slinking thoughts that come to mind.
Every definition has a flipside,
Has a twist, a snaking contortion in sweaty hand-covered voices.
Too much reflection brings with it the ricochets
Of substantiality fading into a knowledgeable glitter;
Laid bare and cracked through rustling wrappers,
You gaze to see this no longer affects your statutor