Monday, February 4, 2008

"Ah, g'wan"

He is a poem: colt-like pent-up
agita condenses in him:
breeds his winning angles, glances –

unsuspected choices – soft tangled
subtle voices breathe through
his testosterone-rich baritone:

Mercury plus every mortal fallibility:
an ineluctable profusion of effects
deriving from some secret recess

(liminally criminal – illicit – sacred:
suspects never will entirely be
named). Once you texted him:

“There’s so much life in you.”
(You almost said “too much.”) Used
to parrying seductive ploys, he texted

back (you pictured wary blinking
eyes – not unaffectionate –
less colt than fawn): “Ah, g’wan.”


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