Old Love

His rockcandy ribcage,
And collarbones an alien terrain.
Hips that could splinter diamonds --
Cosmically estranged.

His eyes: sunken meteorites.
Neck strangled in lovebites
My skin. And his skin:
Rock with intoxicating blight.

A poem by a boy named James

I was at camp
With strangers
In a room full of pianos
Oskar Eustis was teaching us how to play piano
By instinct
Without learning the notes

I was pretty good at it

Then I had a class called
Imagining Water
And I floated in the air for awhile

I was pretty good at that too

Then you showed up
With your French backpack
And your gold hair
And the hills around us blushed so green

I had not noticed them before

You let me lift your shirt a little
And kiss your stomach
And it was warm and soft like perfect bread
And it made me hungry

And even in the dream
I felt that quiet buzz of rightness
That happens when you're around