‘The Right to be Right’

Your heart smarts like all the rest of you

as sex flocks along each particle of skin in 

guiltless reverie. Touched and innocent

as crying snow, whipped by the crossroads

and ripped in a clasped grip like a widening

wound. You are for granted. How should we say

it started when your face is happenstance;

silly pieces flutter like flakes of shit in dabbled 

drinks. She thinks of me throughout a transparent twist

like a stripper making fun of a nudist. What if

it’s smarter to play dumb and mean it?  Precious

vistas summarize our wished giveaways,

and kindness sours the grasp of her tender senses.

I know it’s hard to have your cake and hate it too.

In the end Narcissus starts to drink himself and falls in

full.