Monday, December 3

Yr California Shoulders

here is to paris; to yr shoulder;
may no other
hang yr
shoulder the hang I hung
on rocky ledge of your clavicle

or taste flavours I supped there
in beating collared reservoirs

yr friend asleep on the turf
her lashes to up has splayed
the inside of yr lips
plump youse and forgotten
till the stroke of my tongue;

between breaths the study of yr
shoulders occurred is I in happy

perfumed – the please warm you
kissed in that square where we
fed sparrows and
described little fascinations –
yr friend asleep, my joy brave

o’er Red wine and the cigarette
butts, the petty picnic, the love

yr shoulders, the skin on which tiny
blonde hairs grow, the blondes
I imagine yr pubic
hair to punctuate in deeper full-
stops; kiss me some more

the day almost over, we join
with thick rich saliva in a metro ground

this time later, this time like ragged
romance I damaged cannot deter I
from peaceful Saturday
to remember the supple shawl
of meat on yr California shoulder

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