by ari banias, from anybody
touch your arm to mine.
see the sunset behind the courthouse, and how they are one
institution touching another. to my elbow touch your own
as the pelicans dip their otherworldly faces
in union into the night water. starched dress shirts
without bodies in them, without heads.
walk with me up the residential hill and down the other side.
as we sit across from each other at the unexceptional thai restaurant
touch your leg to my leg. the table wobbles and because i am with you
i forget it. at the streetcorner,
smell the eucalyptus reminiscent of cat piss.
glance with me into the cardboard box at the discarded khakis
and rollerboard suitcase, and touch my shoulder. this is the key
broken off inside my car door in desperation by a stranger.
climb in through the trunk with me and touch your head to my head
at the cheek, at the temple, at the eye, at the lips.
let's go to the mucky shore and watch
the gondolier in the striped shirt, a cliche and real,
stroking the water seriously.
take my body away from me
lightly by touching me, take away
my head. steer me with gentleness
from the sizeable heap of oranges molding at the curb
which i would otherwise describe further.
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