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It was so beautiful a scene

that I had to get close,

but I could get no closer

than the balcony rail.

"What's that?" I asked.

"The Palisades." you answered.

"Home." I thought,

"This river is the Hudson;

I live on the other side."

I turned around to absorb

you and the sun

into my skin.

I remembered

I remember you.

You taught me Ohm's law,

the secret to calculating power,

as I sat on your desk

in the display window

of the little shop

on Hudson Street.

You taught me to trim and coil cable,

focus and tune instruments,

square off shutters.

All things live and electric

All about ladders and illumination

I absorbed under your tutelage.

I remember 14 years ago.

I see your walls are white

hung with folk art.

I remember the wallpaper;

roses woven in the walls.

I see your hair is dark and

thinning.

I remember it was lighter and you were

trimmer.

I remember one night on 81st Street

I asked for shelter with the woven roses.

You were my best friend

my teacher

my text

my context

the pure and platonic.

Snow fell with your unseen tears

until the silence of your pain

tightened my chest and

I kissed you.

I took your despair in my mouth

tasted your salt for

the first time.

You said that I owed it to you.

I said, "This is not payment.

This is a gift.

This is my desire."

I spent that night

healing us both

purifying your skin

kissing the rose petals

that had bruised and fallen.

I remember

I called it love.

I feel you untangling my hair

removing it from your mouth.

I abide with you.

I find comfort in questions no longer asked

words unsaid,

their stillness

more poetic than

love songs.

I remember this position,

many lovers ago, and

the first time

it was you, and

the last time

it was you.

I remember forgiveness.

It lay with us,

imbedded

thorns of woven roses

stuck in my side.

You engender trust and respect.

I make honesty hold hands with discretion.

We water our beds with a constance

a passion

throwing roses on the comforter

loose,

unwoven.

I don't remember this mole

on your back, or the grey

in my hair.

"When did they get here?" I ask.

"They've grown with us." you say.

I call your name—desire.

In my archives

In my present

In my dreams

In my arms

In my thoughts

In the unsaid

In the unsung

you are with me.

You feed me.

I feed my muse.

You take me.

I take my time

memorizing this moment of you

wearing it with all the years of you.

I will press it in the album pages

paste it in the folds

with the albumen

You will leave pressed between my thighs.

I will call for this fragrance again.

You will call again,

come again.

You will hiss at me\(em\(em

"come for me

come for me

come again

come again

come again"

I will suckle your fingertips,

count the hairs on your belly,

catch your nipple in my teeth,

make you glisten with our oils

make you again

make you

you again.

I will leave thoughts unsaid, unasked.

exchange a kiss for each word

catch them in my mouth

feel them inside

feel you inside

feel you

you inside

inside my mouth.

You will call again in Jersey

come across the Hudson.

I will call for a bouquet of these again

these woven roses again

the attar of time and again.

Attar

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