I want a lover, who in the church 

bell of morning, will kill

still-blistering slices from the night 

before with fresh trickle. 

I want to lick the ocean from his 

anywhere from his back

in the rhythm of sunrise 

surprising the moon, once 

in a lifetime. I want to forgive 

the word veal, smooth door, 

behind it—violence, squealing. 

I want to forgive more than that. 

I found a sea slug on the sand 

that chilly day we met. It was dead, 

and it stayed dead, and sticky. 

I’d never seen anything like that,

close, still purple—and the froth 

that claimed it in one long, slow 

drag. I want to hear your story. 

Let me tell you mine. I want to be

on the beach at midnight, ready 

to catch silver fish milting 

in reckless squirm. To create

a sport out of need like that— 

how learned, I want to deserve 

eating. Give me a brass band playing

at a wedding, at which I play

the role of happy. Give me the wool 

from the blanket and the eyes,

I want your eyes on me.

I want to make that camp

and return to it. I want to know

who governs the governing

body. Most of all I want to keep 

wanting to crash on every shore.

Forgiveness is a violet, quaking storm.

The flood is someone we’ve loved

before. Let salt do as salt does.

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