If only there were more wine in France.

There is a hum
Where my gender is numb
My mind fell asleep
|       at the dashboard
Feet propped
against the grain
A consortium affair
Like a cat stretched in the sun
|        in a child’s pose
Sensual touch on foreheads
While married men glance away
fear on fingertips
as our mothers speak of their rape
unforgiven, we then sleep
in the dark of the street lamp
for question of sexuality
|               pause and push
|     pull and go
Because my words were tired
I mailed you a message instead
Sent in a bottle
from across the sea
To see if you were alright
Without postage, without sight
You have to but smile
to see the glow of refracted light
yet all that glitters is not of value
sometimes it’s glass that cuts our feet
in our TOMS shoes and waxed mustaches
Gold woven into hairsprayed designs
painted eyebrows to match
My dear,
|     You must be a model
|                       in the magazine you follow
But all that’s left
|         are the Kitty Genovese
We are left
as shimmering futures
in reflected puddles
from yesterday’s rain
traveling forever onward,
in nonexistent measures
the more drastic
|             daring
Make musical masterpieces
The symphony
|          of matrimony a lie
|                                 of a bent penis
|                          and an unfortunate pregnancy
the social contract
that all relationships are
Forged under a blood oath
On the wedding night
and the family story
Written by the au pair
Is hidden in the art of the old
in a crypt without a guardian
in a language unknown
a sturdy found entrance
|     of gender bending proportions
the love poet in me
wishes to take flight
in your skin
a fearful runaway
without shoes or a pen
because what is modeled before
only speaks to the din
of ill-laid shellac
and misplaced metaphors
writing your long sigh
as you dragon-curl yourself
around the down pillow
into a soliloquy
needing only kisses for clothes
the pronouns carried on the backs
|                                 of crocodiles
the journey away
|                                 away
carries more for dinner
a postcard to many
a suicide note to some
the debtor on fire
and they will all attend
a march on the paved passageways
with planted flowers strewn
plucked from the sky
let’s be kind
|           let’s be kind
|                           to Juliet
I’d give you the moon
yet these bangles have heavy whispers
and they related the tale
by way of the grape
I know, you forgot me,
|                             as did I.