Tokyo Blue
She is eating the cob quickly;
inner ear deaf to the milky blue
of Tokyo thought-provoking, dream
delirium, so many grey mornings
spent lounging in the sacrificial
cone of spooned lovers; mocking
the rain in Seattle, mocking the
caffeine in Seattle, saying you'd
rather suck the heat from the lamp
posts then chew another bite of
somewhere else where your mind
resembles the restless oncoming
of another day. We did not go south,
or elsewhere across an ocean of
too much mist and hot honey, the
tea just curdled in our bones; claims
she was just meaning to be ironic
when she placed her thumb in her mouth,
that the curve of her thin leg had no meaning,
or the shade of her shadow, the curl of
her hair, the language we break into,
conversations in writing, words in symbols,
and the blue: loud, irreplaceable, confusing,
and heavy in our mouths, our teeth tangle
around it, reenter hunger in the shape of
a nude man, we gawk at, we like to
look, subjectify, we would love him if
he did not have another to be equally
unnecessary; we place the butter on our
palms, message it in, we feel different
already.