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R.G. Cantalupo

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Under A Different Light

at another time--under a full moon,
or crescent, or sickle--under blinking
beer-sign neon, or flickering amber--
on a sideroad, or bridge, or in a tunnel
somewhere--when we were younger,
brighter, our bodies new to us then,
our hands small, hungry animals
searching for the food inside our clothes...
maybe we would have chosen someone
else, the blond one, the tall one, the one
with a voice like silver, the one with
green eyes or long legs or money, some one
quiet or some one who told great stories,
a teacher, an artist, a rebel, a sage...

But tonight, here, under this light, in
this time, cars eyes searching our walls
like prison kliegs, the rush of traffic
and the rush of the sea swallowed by
our breathing, here, in this room, anonymous
as lost pennies, with little owned and
so much given, here, we’ve chosen
each other, imperfect as we are, the moon
thru the venetian gold on your brown belly,
my palm pressed against the fast drum
beating between your breasts, my tongue
strumming the dream chord inside
your furred lips, past and present,
alone and together, each string vibrating
against the other to make this song.

 

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