Of Lanterns & Lighthouses

Here’s to the body that folds
and fumbles. Here’s to the cock
you weren’t born with. Here’s
to flammable nightgowns.

It’s got to do with the hard-to-find
postcards that make a place look
as dirty as it is. The unswept pile
of glass you were always
stepping around.

Here’s to the moment
you hauled your breath up
from prostration, like a suitcase
of air, and became
a bright red sail.


jade