Ann Kim
TERPIN HYDRATE
long october evenings, a cold bay wind pushes
a thousand candles across water
a shrub opens in the sky.
undone by a tall romance of night, swallows
craze steep streets, stun themselves
worse than the watchers on glass balconies.
then a hundred tiny breaths
make circles of dark mist windows
and its time to read celine again and its time
deep in a chrome yellow couch.
oh, his livingrooms all were leather,
and his floating hair
full of lilies of the valley, think,
but on formal evenings,
he presented his card, a clear bauble
like max ophuls' left eye,
then knelt to place a purple rose
under the heel of my nearly empty heel.
and many the small psalms of praise, like hands
everywhere . that touch
the roof of your mouth
