Dangerously Good

Let’s go beneath his rising
rose-and-golden glow –
the evanescent shifts

and shapes that he suggests
as you detect, between
his lips, his barest breath –

when he so much as flicks
an eyebrow just a millimeter up
and to the left – to bless

the passage of the briefest
thought: soft irony,
the sort to which his

temperament inclines: dark
and hushed hilarity: savoring
disparity – the slit, the paper cut,

the slice-in-psyche whose
sharp anguish he can
almost wish away – leaving

maybe just a stray acidic
whiff: a flash reminder.
He is sure that if you knew

his case – if you could
take the ride that he was on –
you’d lose your sanity.

Perhaps you would. All you
know is every time you think
of him, it’s dangerously good.

.