It’s not the First Time I Wear a Cummerbund

It’s not the First Time I Wear a Cummerbund

I am the glow of a fixed star, the timeless echo of a plea that always returns.

You seduce my rest, and climb my geography.

Does the mirror fade like a refined emotion in your hands?

Don’t answer, I need your silence to be wild.

The sun shatters into rainbows. It makes me sweat.

I lie near a turtle on the floor of a botanical garden

hoping the stillness that dwells in my imagination
-the crossdresser singing boleros to the stars- calms

down and erases my fear of being marginalized.

Not all silences are the same,

there is no such thing as a perfect stranger.

Not one is as perfect as his shadow.

In the lake of Close Indifference,

where the bed creaks like a bag full of rain,

we were all size 30 once.