The lungs are a temporary house.
And, I am housed in a breathless city.
The mosquitoes drifting out from a glass
Of champagne gnaw on the skin above
My elbow. Tonight, I am glad to be
Eaten from the elbow out, the wedding
Covered in smoke from lovers’ mouths, not-so
Lovers drifting in and out of the bone
Of their bodies as if it is possible
To sift oneself through the screen of a door—
Tonight, I am glad to come to a bench,
The yawn light busy in its red yawning,
Nothing feeding nothing—mosquito—lover—
Lover—mosquito—Do you take—I do, I do.
Copyright © 2013 Roger Reeves
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.