Surviving Lust (A shout out to Josh Bell)
Remember my worst act?
I try to forget it. Hands in pockets.
St. Stephen’s green; statues and moldy fountains.
Tell me where I am, north green or
south, then bike to me
in short shorts—you pen the fancy
lettering on my leg. Your name.
My good hairs stand-up
and tell me we’re alone. Live
thoughts squirm, cranial and worm-like.
Art museum, oil canvas, ard mhusaem. Your hand
on my ass proves you don’t care.
That real things only feel magical.
Remember me as your fingers do
my thigh. I’ll remember you as
the tour guide with a halfsie.
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