Lemonade and Moccasins
- For Beau
We drop sex like commas into the conversation—
your finger and thumb form the nub

of an imaginary erection, and my eyes
dart down to your lap.

My mouth puckers from the lemonade
and hermaphroditical discourses.

I am imagining taking the whole of you
into my mouth, tasting your words,

bone-flavored monologues, and gray
matter. My rib

reflexes, a solid swath of
listening to you,

listening to you

again. My feet break apart
the day like sealed envelopes,

the morning is mocking; sedentary,
lip-parting laughter, and the soft

electric shock of your voice
saying my name in sigh and

farewell. We are one of a kind, you
and I, effeminate male, masculine

female, sway together, fill the
hour if a few happenstance words,

pull apart.