A Certain Slant of Light

I’m attempting
the opposite of a heist here
I’m becoming a confessional poet
whose only confession is
I keep getting nervous
some wild animal is about
to see me naked.
It’s the time of year
I chase the light around,
when the season forces
its color palette on me.
It’s the time of year
I sea monster in the bath
and say dramatic things
like half decade,
and in my dreams last night,
you were jealous
I spoke the language
(I don’t)
you were jealous of
all the cool bisexuals’
plastic flower alchemy.
The time of year when
I’ll blow out the candles
I’ll blow on an eyelash
I’ll hold you at needlepoint,
my tub connected to yours
through a vast underground
network of piping.
The season
I promise the pop poets
to pack enough sex in here
to make a lesson
of grave rubbing.
I promise..

to open you like a drawer
and be surprised each time