Naked on William

When you speak this close to shore
in a voice of fingers, thumbs, tongue -
making the sea sound nearly as clean
as a million freshwater skinny fish -
I could say how I twisted you.

Those stories, your Puerto Rican body,
run in refrains like Menudo's hit songs.
There, it rains beauty from trees and topsoil,
through mountains, languages, skies -
territories that need a star, this point of light.

You need management of impulse.
Leaning back on the park bench,
spread you wide to say

'oh, lucky thing'

While other men tell me their dreams,
you pull on me like mattress coils.

Collecting dust in these words,
these travelers' guides of my hands
wander the doctor, face to figure,
a surgical tool for fucking around,
when you are nothing but open wound.

Someone showed me your work,
a scar dividing love and passion,
saying she'd eaten the plums I had,
bruised fruits that fell during the fuck,
Put back in place so your lover never knew.