Nocturne: Remi, I Love You

I love your crusty right earlobe, pressed into a suitcase of sleep,

rinsed clean like a dumpling under steaming shower to stave

away arthritis nerves & wanting; Remi, I love your micro-penis, curled

& dangling like a secret in thrush & thicket, engorged from years

of hormone creationism; Remi, I love your flat chest sprinkled with hairs

so wiry they’re electric; I will love, one day, Remi, the small rounding of fat

hibernating under clearance button-ups; Remi, I love the scar on your right

eyebrow where you’d once punctured the skin tissue with out-of-town

silver & vacation impulses; Remi, I no longer love the tattoo on your left

bicep, but hindsight is the price you paid for adventure, & I love what brought you there;

Remi, I love your height so compact, your shoulders narrow enough to wheel-

barrow your torso right into the shelf at Walmart to get the last can of tuna;

Remi, I love your Minnesota loon laugh, how it warbles & shrieks, burrows

into the tunnel of your lover; I love your callused heels, how they have run, Remi,

for many miles both in to & out of nothing; Remi, I love your embarrassingly

long list of food allergies not because it makes life convenient but because

it means you must always consider how to stay safe in mind & in body & to calculate

unexpected threats which to others may seem like ordinary mustard; and speaking

of condiments, Remi, I love what you have found in Matthew’s mustard seed

when others said, no, this serving isn’t for you, & you said, yes, this is my garden; Remi,

I love that on your job applications you write “I’m a tryer”—not intelligent or qualified,

just enthusiastic, which, from the Greek, means to be filled with God; if you want

to find God, Remi, take a breath. Set down the pen. Strip your layers & salt what remains.

Look in the mirror. Hold eye contact until your left hemisphere rebuilds

the Tower of Babel, brick & mortar rising up from your swollen feet, swallowing

your ankles & calves in thick epiphany, until, pupils dilated like a black cat

on a lucky day, you speak the same language.