“red”

Like water running red
over my palms again,
I catch my dream and hold it
only long enough
to recall that color curling
between my lips.

Like children running naked
under early October sun,
my body is dried of all my fears
while your hands
rush to meet my clothes.

Kiss me in the emptiness
behind the turn of this page.

Kiss me in the attic air
that grows so stale
while we’re at play.

Kiss me like a silhouette
outside a teenager’s door—
and let the moon become
a camera lens,
our fly upon the wall.

Like water running red
over my palms again,
catch my heart beneath your tongue
and tell my story when I am done.

narrative poem written on 06-19-2010 by: on mattkane.com
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