Jonas

Green - being a scene;
one where promises

are made, and Jonas
is behind a limp screen

tonguing tangerine teen-queens,
gorging, eyeballs fatter from

black liner and weighted
whereuponness - they teach

themselves that his mouth
is salvation - grey teeth already

fed on mid-morning nightingales,
he inhales the sun in one ticking

gulp. A bitten thumb, tittles taken
to bed, lovers

as a thousand arabesque
doorways; looting

mosques with illuminating
Americanisms rising in his eyes -

a promise, honor being a thinner
loop of gold than idealism,

I wait for him to move past me,
concurring conclusion

green eyed, and
yellow bellied,

swollen from the numb
challenge of conquest.