huck

In a squat, glass-fronted building
on the other side of the road,
there hangs an exquisite jaw.

By night I have the pleasure of
watching him sweat into greasy air,
and the alchemy intoxicates:

the lines on the boards go limp
before my eyes, evoking willows
drawn winsome in charcoal.

Wherefore his knowing asides?
Was he insinuated into this? Is he
an agent of the homosexual agenda?

(The heterosexual agenda had better
learn how to use a chisel.) Let us
be thankful for these rare confusions.

In another life, I am staying up late
in anticipation of his return;
I offer breasts and hips to his fatigue,
and touch his cheek.