Fissures of Men

Hello again, everyone!

I realize I'm a couple days behind this whole "post a new piece once a week" thing, but I just moved to Kalamazoo and didn't have time to attend to this. However, I got the wifi in my apartment to work, so now I can continue.

This next piece is a poem I wrote this past Summer. It was originally formatted in simple paragraphs, and not in the way it is now, but I got home from work today and realized this is a poem, and not a prose poem like I thought (the specifics of which are not important).

So without further ado, here is Fissures of Men. As always, comments and helpful criticisms are appreciated!

love.

--

Fissures of Men

You told me you don’t believe in anything

beyond what we can see.

It was the middle of the night;

dawn was hours away. We were wrapped in blankets,

twisting around us like vines,

and you were naked, but I wasn’t—

or was it the other way around?

When those words left your lips, our bed cracked in half

and an oceanic chasm threatened to pull us to its depths

by our ankles. I reached across and I smiled

feeling you reaching too

and our fingertips touched.

-

I can see the way you look down at me, your eyes trying to suck mine dry. I can see your lips and tongue, tracing and licking my bones clean. I can see the way your hips move on mine, waves crashing. I can see the way your dark hair cracks across the pillow, the impact of your brilliance on bland fabric. I can see your body, bare and pink, and precious.

I tell you that what we can see proves something beyond what we can see.

You roll over and go back to sleep.

Our faults are our faults.