furr

[wpaudio url=”/audio/5_5/furr.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]

I.

we wear fur,
everyday,
then spend
our lives
removing proof,
shaving,
the stubble clumping,
like ants
in the sink.

shaving,
like we can
clean, purge
the animal,
the evolution,
until we are
pale and bald,
bleeding
with the blisters
of our own
left-overs.

II.

I have shaved already,
my face, sure,
my legs, too,
my own pubic hair

we have seen each other
shaved and not–

I have touched
the pink skin beneath

I have kissed the hairs
as they re-grew

I have loved each
shard as it scratched
my face, exfoliating
the dreams that flood
over me in that place,
between your legs,
between time, between.

III.

we move
down
the
body

hair
on my chest,
belly,
and below

you,
smooth

when I reach
you, when I
feel the heat
against my cheek
my brain
flattens
like a map,
unfolded,
telling me.

IV.

the way it
grows
on our limbs
and between,
the way it covers
where we want
covered

and the way
it pulls,
brings tears,
brings light,
brings us

animal and non-

the way it
feels in the dark,
my fingers
twisting through

the way it
touches
my tongue
and lips

even now.

V.

I want to lay
in a field
of my wife’s
pubic hair,
to taste it
on my tongue,
like salt, dissolving.

I want her to
lay my head
in her naked lap.

I want to
never leave.