New Years Eve i come to you.
donning long jean coat
i walk lush expectance
through the steamy eve
up the blocks of 52nd street.
you, cocaine
already rubbed in your gums.
me, feigning
sober friendship while i sip tipsy our sweet wantings (waitings)
— which radiate out
which pour together
which fill me up.
your couch
heads opposite, feet inch near
heat builds in the shrinking spaces
between legs.
where can we …[be]…closer,
my skin bids
but you can't, you say.
so we break:
pull away, make tight, forming again two distinct bodies.
then you come to me.
don’t say you didn’t start it.
you reach out
your baby-blue nails to graze my knee
fingertips crawl across the air,
cry for contact.
i give you it.
you stay long, in my bed.
but you can’t, you say.
so we break.
next, who comes? who knows. we
come. wanting, not less,
but for now familiar feel -
more
how?
never together,
but already broke
so
many
times.
About the Author - Margo Schall: Margo is an educator, a lifelong student and cosmologist, a poet & bookmaker, and a queer lover in it all. Margo believes in erotics as our lifepower and our juice for justice that’s not dry. She believes in words as a way to reach, to long, to try.
Photo Credit: Inge Poelman
