Leaning into the Afternoons


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Fuck me, she says,
And it’s not an exclamation
It’s a plea

Fuck me feels good
In love’s true light
It’s not like it’s forbidden

Fuck can be such a hateful word
But she’s my Love
Trying that name on for size

Fuck me sort of suits her
She loves to laugh
And she wants something carefree and crude

Fuck me and all of the sudden it’s a playful prayer
We both still want something good for this world
We both still believe in miracles

Fuck me and there are better words for it
We both know
But the way she says it makes you wonder

Fuck me please, I’m soppy and smooth
The world is disappearing
And it’s not so much the please it’s the possibility:

It’s the possibility
That life is going to break us into pieces
Knock us reeling and silly with painful joy

And the word fuck is suddenly a tiny praise chorus
A slap happy swing at the tipsy gods
The joke’s on us

And this is the Harmony
Looking down on a tangle of bodies
A happily shipwrecked bed

And I watch her as she crests
I love it that she does things
Just to make her feel more alive

And I watch her as she drifts
I love it that she does things
Just to open her eyes

And we’re lying side by side
Struck dumb with astral eyes
Missing all that matters (mostly)

Now from my present lapse,
The poet’s final boast:
I saw the world and could not resist.