My friend Emily and I wrote this poem together. This is a rough draft, but I sort of love it…
Rest deep in the field of matte black
plush and dense as Mississippi night;
no screams will jolt you from this
reverie, no girls will faint at your feet
except me, clawing to get behind
the wide gilt frame centered on the wall
to run my fingers thru your hair, to recline
against your muscular thighs, to climb
your twisting legs and scale your hips.
Rest here and wait for me. I will come
to grasp your shoulders, to cling to your name.
I would taste the sugar and the smoke of your mouth,
but when I try to press my lips against yours,
I feel nothing but dust clinging to painted fibers
and the rough places where a painter’s brush
paused, the paint pooling on your bottom lip.
You are all man, rough, hard, surrounded by a sea
soft and impenetrable, velvet waves fading
into a bright white glow at the edges of your face.
I brush one finger along the angle of your jaw,
slowly slide it down the short softness that lies
flat, the revealed triangle of your chest. I step back
and see the gold surrounding, the end of a plush life framed
forever, a bright spot on the dark paneled wall.