Watching It Happen

I laze about, deranged and unafraid

to godly kiss you, kiss the pharmacist

that whipped you, undilute, to dilate high

your animus of lime and lye.

I know of an upstairs hell.

A creamy, vascular thump

through bonus years of things that pass

and things that do not move.

Your cellular mouth. Your mess

of inattention. Now that none

of us are good looking I think

that/they are right.

Strokes of light you taped across my nipple.

Patterns staked to fake the love

we cannot feel so slick the miser

of your hand through my bad heart.

Genius, you are blond enough.

Once in a while.

And in the end, when I sweep coolly up

and will not be drawn back,

then I will tell you of it. How I can.

In writing, I am making an attempt

to depict my beautiful nose

through imagery.

I will tell you of it. Once in a while.

I will miss you. And the tape.

To be flung down,

petals from a balcony.

Copyright Credit: Elaine Kahn, "Watching It Happen" from Women in Public. Copyright © 2015 by Elaine Kahn. Reprinted by permission of City Lights Books.

Source: Women in Public (City Lights Books, 2015)