by Viggo Mortensen

we've left shore somehow
become the friends
of early theory
close enough to speak
of desire and pain of absence
of mistakes we'd make
given the chance.

each smile returned
makes harder avoiding
dreams that see us
lying in the early evening
curtain shadows, skin
safe against skin.
bloom of compassion
respect for moments
eyes lock turns
forever into one more
veil that falls away.

this after seeing you
last night, first time
smelling you with
permission: shoulders to
wonder openly at
as carefully kissed
as those arms
waited impossibly on.
they've held me now
and your breath
down my back
sent away the night air
that had me shaking
in the unlit anglican

are we ruined for
finding our faces fit
and want to know more
about morning? is
friendship cancelled
if we can't call
each other anymore
in amnesia, invite
ourselves to last glances
under suspicious clocks
telling us when we've
had enough?

your steady hands
cradling my grateful
skull: were you taking
in my face to
save an image
you've rarely allowed
yourself after leaving
that cold alcove?
am i a photograph
you gaze at in
moments of weakness?

you ordered me
off my knees
into your arms.
wasn't to beg
that i knelt; only
to see you once
from below.

tried to say something
that filled my mouth
and longed to rest
in your ear.
don't dare write
it down for fear it'll
become words, just

Last updated November 12, 2022