Bordertown

tuesday, september 7
austin, texas

there is a bordertown
of skin
where our bodies are pressed together
in sweaty summer rainstorm with lightning
telegraphing strobing messages on the walls
awake, i listen to the rain like little feet
running outside

there is a bordertown
of skin
my bare belly and breasts pressed
to your giant rock of a back
as i curl my knees around your knees
like two apostrophes

two quotation marks
left hanging mid sentence
suspended in the syrup of sleep and disbelief
you used to be so angry
i used to insist on being so alone
you moved to another city
now i visit you in your bed

you are my lover still
you still move me so
and my tenderness
(like a new green shoot
of some persistent wild grass
pushing through the cracks)
surprises me again
and i am delighted
by my enduring innocence

there is a bordertown
of two lives
wrapped in ribcages
wrapped in bodies
our two lives run together for a moment
like the edges blurring between nations where cultures clash, blend and mend
mercenaries of love bleeding and slipping into each other,
our slick wildness filling the unpaved, lawless streets
we stay up all night laughing and dancing barefoot and drinking tequila to the music like
red and green tijuana colors melting together

in this lawless bordertown
there are no treaties here
except the ones we make now