Let me be honest about something—
I love the scent of my own reeking armpits.
You say you can smell the pheromones
in my sweat. I go days without showering
because you love my tired scent.
Especially when you’re horny. You say
it smells like an animal. You like me
in charge like an animal. You like
my hand on the back of your neck.
You’re very honest when you’re horny.
If you let me, I will
be honest about
everything. I will say
I’m unhappy about
this evening’s plan, your
I will not stay silent
to keep the peace. If
you let me, I will be
so honest as to shake
the half-stale air between
your ribs. I will be
vulnerable, which is what
you ultimately want.
In small, manageable increments, I am working to become a more conscionable man.
Between masquerade balls and marriage arguments,
lonely body pillows and apologetic sex—
between the narrow chasms of the extraordinary
lie comfortable vales of familiarity:
long Korean hair tangled in my short Greek beard,
a finger hooked through the band of your underwear,
our unbathed scent on the linens.
|Date created||01 Feb 2009|
|Journal||Tourist (Sep 2009)|