When Minds Meet

He sat in the Church,

Beside me, but still,

So separate.

We were both on the floor,

As pews were too few.

We looked at each other twice, I recall.

And he began to wave around his hands..

It was better than anything I had seen in years.

They flapped, danced about like legs,

And they stroked as much the back of his ear as his paper cigarette skins,

So well, that I wished it would be closer skin that he could be flattering,

With those fingers.

The thought of a disorder completely eluded me.

I was wrapped in a wet incandescence, a slow glue,

Towards the hands, the face that melted..

Into the wall he clung to

And was married against.

(I watched again and again and I swear,

I wanted to suck the skin off those hands.)

He was a small poem of a man.

And still..

Still, I want to break the hymen,

Inside that man’s face.