My midnight lover ate dinner with me. I threw a kiss at him across the table
His kiss flew across the table, dinner now bones and gristle. I ate the kiss. My lover bled midnight from his eyes, threw moonlight from his mouth. Meet me tonight under the gaslight he sang.
Moonlight and gaslight flew all the same to me. I threw his midnight back across the table. A cave like a maw called to me. My mouth bled bones and a kiss from my lover’s eyes. We ate gristle for dinner tonight and are sated, filled up with twilight banter and the melody of nightjars pickled white. At the end is only desert and dry eggs.
The desert eats bones and gristle. Each cave echos a moonish tune.
looked in the cupboard and nothing there but a few mangy cans of maybe peas, nobody eats canned peas, so I put on my walking boots headed to the super Doppler effect market, moving faster than the speed of sound, around 300 feets per moment, not sure about centigrade, so set out and Izzy came along for canned mouse she’s not picky, ran into her pals and her enemies too all along the route, dead elms shading us from the sun in their skeletal fashion, me and Izzy skipping along, run into our next door neighbor, Paws the Siamese, Izzy don’t like him, but I say, hey Paws, want to go grocery shopping with us, Paws says surely I do, I don’t, I do and gallops along, weaving in and out between me and Izzy in a most annoying way and when we get to the outskirts of town we run into my cousin Jackanapes longhair Persian kinda guy, all whiskers and fur and purr if you know what I mean, he falls right in with us, we are some fucking parade I think, and we march right into the store, proud we seem, hungry we are, nobody’s around but us and the shelves are bare, well laundry detergent is stacked high and there are plenty of beans but the tuna fish aisle is like a desert and the milk department is blank as the moon of Jupiter, barren, barely breathing.
My love is on the move today having motored to the station and situated himself in a bus equipped with air conditioning and multiple baglets of salty pretzels, driven by an eminent expert chauffeur who will transport passengers to Boston, city of patriots and many hospitals, because one particular hospital is the reason the love of my life is traveling today, and when he arrives after many hours at the Boston terminal, South Station, a huge cavernous monument of an edifice which smothers several city blocks, he will snatch up his suitcase, put away his paperback and telephone and earphones and whatever else he has taken out on the interminable ride, pack it all away, crumple up empty cellophane, stand and shuffle to the exit, step down the stairs into the depot, and then make his way through the terminal breathing the smoggy coolish air of downtown Boston, stand a minute and stomp his feet to get shaky bearings, acquiring his sea legs during a round-the-world steamship journey, and then start walking to his hotel located a very long way away, but fortuitously situated next to the doctor’s office where he is expected the next morning, so that his eyes which are poorly sometimes and could get worse if he is careless, so his eyes can be checked and measured and drops inserted until the light of a single candle feels like a strobe blasting away, that’s how sensitive his eyes become after the medication is trickled into his eyeballs and he must wink away tears for half an hour, anyway he has to trudge an hour across Boston to get to his hole-in-the-wall hotel, where he will find he has no hot water but he will shower with cold water because he doesn’t really care, of course if I was there I would call the front desk and complain but he doesn’t, he just takes a cold shower and enjoys it, then wraps himself in a shabby towel and calls me to say he is fine, he is clean and cooled off after his interminable walk and missing me and longs for the life we used to lead six hours ago which makes me laugh, since he is sentimental and I am hard-boiled.