Jared Mauskopf
A pretty,city Now

Night shuffles in through turnstiles star by star;
It's not a concert of twinkles, no,
but an audience; an applauding; a Hey, you down there: Encore!
'But nothing's happened yet!' i say.
Still, those stars: they lean ever-so-closely toward us
And their bending: the flickering twilight. 
"Now!" one says, and the rest stream behind.
They circle halo-dust above us, tap the rose-light signals of skyline tops
and constellate toward:

"This is Venus," they wink to me.
i cup your pointer hand and lift: 'It's Venus,'
i say smiling. our hands
return themselves to the
ground and now i start

slowly running across you,each tingle,every tickle, each (is there no limit?) every-

                                                       You turn(i hear it in the leaves)close your eyes(no limit now) and slant,
slant ever-so-lovely for a kiss and we
saunter on our lips, our hands stumbling across
August skin (Better just hover over-i know i feel it,sodoyou); and I'm
tangled in your hair: it scents of Spring on grass and crinkles like sands of stepped-on snow.I like it
when your right eyebrow ups your forehead and screams 'i'd like for you to-,'
and i do. my dear (your beautiful cheek) i swear by all the thirty stars above these city lights,
by angels flitting dimly round this pretty now of night that We Are Here-
(but of sunrise i know only that I'll wake, and You'll smell of next morning.)

<< Back to Issue 8, 2005