after Federico García Lorca / after Conor O’Callaghan
no one led me to the river
& I was not a virgin
because I had a husband & you
those long weekends
in Mobile I should have stayed
the street lights weren’t on yet
as I parked at the restaurant
areolas electric body
heat diffusing perfume
& the cotton of my jeans—
you in your fine linen suit
table votive with its aureole
of gold the haze your eyes,
& I forgot my life so fast
eight hours from the river—
past the longleaf pines
scrub palms & billboards
after two glasses of pinot
I let down my hair
you took off your tie
& reached for my hand
my need to kiss you
your cocksure play
so no coffee no dessert
nothing in all of Florida
has half the sweetness
that night you might
have harnessed the winds
off the Gulf of Mexico
winged unbridled
I play back the murmurs
my body still bitten you
pulled me from the river
& tangled bougainvillea
I was married yes but
fallen & already yours
Leave a Reply