Aaron Coleman

We Lay Our Fear in a Wicker Basket
November 19, 2019 Coleman Aaron

We Lay Our Fear in a Wicker Basket
 
 
Too drunk, walking around
shook down             gravity. Right hand aimless
as city noise, as night, left              hand on wet brick, trying
to braid these fingers              into graffiti, falling in
love with it. One more minute of eye             contact away
from unbuckling our pants together
 
right here, on a 3am riproaring street           but far away
enough, really         just a few blocks       south, between
a metal doorway and black, leaning trees. I slip
 
inside you, push almost patiently
and listen to                     the sounds you make,
your hands that reach                 back for my ass, pull me
 
in. I’m kissing your hair           your neck, holding you up
against the rusted metal door. Neither of us
on the lookout, alert for trouble.              What do we care
 
about? What do we know           about each
other? I knew I walked by         the same
site – the shrill monument masked by time
and emptiness – three years later      in broad daylight,
palm to palm          with another woman, one I love,
your face           almost blurring me.