ALL THAT YOU TOUCH AND ALL THAT YOU SEE
In the blacklit attic of his friend’s house,
chicken in the curve of the country road,
Jethro Tull and vodka OJ,
he teaches me sweet smoke shotgun
tongue kiss without the tongues,
tight corduroy, zippers and velvet.
Somebody’s mama yelling downstairs,
he lowers the weight of sixteen years
down across my fourteen while
Pink Floyd thrums my veins,
all bump and grind,
all sound and fury,
cheating dance and soft-turned sorry.
His sad eyes, her cute coat;
I was just a passing thing,
but real as the back door he broke open
to raid the minister’s liquor.
One night, one night, then two,
we slipped away like lovers.
And even though time has left us there
in that tight upstairs room,
it will always be the expressway somewhere
and roach clips on the rearview,
his hand on my thigh.