william orbit mix

U2-One
--
after the dance
some uninscribed body devises an image on the floor.
after the dance
some inhibited eye tumbles closed too slowly
after the dance your
ownership is more denied and confirmed than my tongue can follow,
ink blue circles devised along my shoulder blade,
indigo symbolism inscribed on the curve of my waist
dark color stained on my iris.

I am
tired. The dark quiet alcohol
hung around my neck and my hands
cupped around the neck of every man there
at some brief course of the minute hand.
The marble floor is my mother, holding me like
a cold, white, flat womb. Your hand is a journey
inscribed over the iridescent purple painted on my
shins, the inversion defiance of the dry salty white
of sweat on my temples.
I am.

after the dance
we cannot recollect the strewn pieces of our
inky selves and assemble them like a hypodermic
electric decision around our stormy imperfection of
motion. and
after the dance
we let pass an hour on the floor-
waiting for our bodies to forgive us.

I am
unabstained. The brush of spread hands
streaked the taste of blue-purple across my
forearms onto your forehead. The pulse of
lost time
rearranges my perceptions
and sometimes I ask forgiveness of my body
for the open walls of my ribcage,
for the urgent lift of my lungs in the ribbons of
dark air.