Brooklyn Bridge
apologetic lights
soft,
moth wings beat glass,
laced, bridgeless, over
the teeth of the skyline.
hands swollen from
salt (and thinking of boys)
hold the peeling-paint rail to steady the eyes.
as they watch, dark eyes, drink up
reflections
of dusty
halos of street
lamps off
black water.
your name passes soundless by my
lips.
the word is the same shape as your
kiss.
your
eyelashes are too long for a boy.
they brushed my cheek when you
blinked.
your hair would sell for a good price
it is as
heavy as gold.
still, I am at the
river, dreaming.
the wind that hints of
sea water wakes me.
the
lights hang on the
Brooklyn Bridge
glowing like my thighs’ treasure
naming the shape of the
invisible bride
words fail between us.
so many are known,
that no two words,
not love, not lust,
can name the same dream.