i mean, god damn
come on, get down to my bones
sure, i can handle it, I'm begging you even.
we'll start a fire, become a collision, a two man showdown
fisticuffs or revolvers, i don't care, isn't that love? isn't that love?
in french "folie" can mean derangement or insanity,
and "jolie" is the word for pretty
just one letter separates them, how about that? just one.
you never learned.
i want you to know past skins, bones, mouths, worlds, it's all here
sitting there with the two of us
and me there so patiently, my soul is shaking from the patience.
i mean kisses like falling dreams, the air between extra-astronomical.
i'm asking you to be the lies to the priest in a confessional booth,
the sticky sweat on girl-thighs
in a catholic school skirt in a hard wooden desk in june.
be august, be christmas, be oceans, read poems to my hips,
how when catholics talk about prayer it just means this kind of kiss.
my rifles at the ready.
shake my soul, cowboy, I'm waiting for it.