To be anywhere in the world
in any weather, to hold a book
like a child does and [moving] moves
from here to the flanks of the Vosges,
stares at a fresco by Piero
or hears an aria float out from a window
on the Coronation Route in Prague.
How fine it is to be us, to be
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on the water, our thoughts as slippery,
as fluid, our moods like gusts [of dopamine]
little zephyrs of enticement,
our happiness rising and setting
with the sun, the bright seal of hope
the dimming lamp of rest.
She used to touch the beard on my face,
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Whether nascent or full,
And stroke it with two fingers.
She would indulge in the bristles
As they bit tenderly into her chin
When we kissed and kissed
The way we used to
Kiss and kiss.
She loved when it was mostly brown and a little blonde and ginger
And loved it more when the white began to overtake the brown and blonde
And touch of ginger.
If I shaved because it’s not our world but theirs
And I must get along sometimes
She would be sad but understanding of that.
I squirrel for your key among the bird routes
and airplane flights in the blue hummed daylight.
I dig for you in lowest drawers of desks
where duties cement my legs and
cubicles encompass what’s left.
If life ever careens through, we could
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rendezvous in dialogue at night’s dock.
As stowaways in bed, we might kiss
and kite our private lightening
into the bugle-blare of dawn.
Like the arc of an asteroid’s predicted landing
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none of us are sure what’s yet to come as we ignore
skin’s craving. We stay in this strange apart space where
we cannot shake hands hug dance kiss cannot simply slide
next to one another on couch park bench diner booth as we’ve
always sat, loops for the same belt.
hold true no reason to know kiss the ground as it shakes everything goes away a continuing sequence of holding on and letting go infinite in its finality; love has many names and none of them can ever be ours to keep. Edward L. Canavan is an American poet whose work has been published in […]
Read more "hold true"
I’ll be your blood, your taste, your touch In my head I hold a mental map of all the pipes beneath these streets because I laid them there and in my fingers, spark of all the wires on those poles because I strung them there and in my muscle, lift of lumber — stud, joist, […]
Read more "I’ll be your blood, your taste, your touch"
Elizabeth Sackett earned a degree in English with a writing concentration from SUNY Geneseo, where she received the Lucy Harmon Award for Fiction Writing and was published in Gandy Dancer. She has also been published in Gravity Of The Thing, Fickle Muses, Neon Literary Magazine and Subprimal Poetry Art, and enjoys writing about women, folklore, […]
Read more "Partial Endothermy"
Emeniano Acain Somoza, Jr. considers himself the official spiritual advisor of his roommates, Gordot and Dwight—the first a goldfish, the other a Turkish Van cat. His works have been published in The Poetry Magazine, Moria Poetry Journal, Fogged Clarity, Everyday Poem, Loch Raven Review, The Buddhist Poetry Review, The Philippines Free Press, Troubadour 21, Full […]
Read more "The Kiss"
Mark Mansfield is the author of one full-length collection of poetry, Strangers Like You (2009, revised 2016 Van der Decken). His poems have appeared in The Adirondack Review, Bayou, The Evansville Review, Fourteen Hills, Gargoyle, Iota, The Ledge, Limestone, Magma, The Opiate, Potomac Review, Pouch, Salt Hill, Scrivener, Unsplendid, Waccamw, and elsewhere. He holds an M.A. in Writing […]
Read more "Hushabye"
when i couldn’t speak she drew me a circle there were no words to communicate the shape i didn’t understand but her circle did not close and it turned outward on itself and i was sad to see it stop. she called it “spiral” and i begged for her to complete it until it reached […]
Read more "ex nihilo"