There are certain smells
that hang around
no one but girls
I’ve found.
There must also be
a smell for boys,
maybe the scent of their pee
or maybe their toys.
But I cannot tell
no matter how I try
what a boy’s smell is.
Guess I’m a boy is why.
If you take ten things you know
and mix them well together
and dump them to a salad bowl
will it help you find the weather?
Ok, you bring a million things
into your search of weather
or split them to a million bowls
is your salad any better?
And have you found a single cloud
from your verbalizing loud?
Have you seen or touched a sound?
Have you made a raindrop round?
If dreams were my fingers
and prayers dances come true,
on falling meadows I would linger
sleeping with you.
And life were a true thing,
which it is (but not soon)
I would give up my manhood
to relearn it from you.
If wind be my voice
with a tongue green as leaves,
I’d speak you no noise
harsher than breeze.
And thoughts were an oak tree,
not intellectual—but were dark—
words curl like black branches,
kisses thicken like bark.
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