Wanderlust

by Gerard Wozek
(11/10/04)

We got lost
on the bridle path,
virgin brides
to the birthing milkweed.
Persimmons ripe enough
to pick. We sank
into stable hay.
And in sinking, steadied
each other with clumsy bodies.
Boy chests, ropey arms.
His red hair blowing wild,
fluid like a horse's dark mane.
Let me teach you,
taking my hands to damp
lichen beds, tree roots,
places I'd already
learned to fear.
Later I traced the rim
of a rusty church bell,
and was pierced
by a metal splinter.
You sucked the tip
of my wounded forefinger
Blood brothers, you promised.
Then the needle dislodged
and you assured me
I could move into you,
The way one glides on a colt's
wild gait, letting the
unsaddled creature
become one with the mulch.
Surefooted, instinctive,
heading for something
pure and far.

 

---

Crush

A foreign tongue
treads over mine.
We exchange saliva,
the taste of oyster sweat,
chromosomes, the usual.

For a half-breath
we pause under the quay,
as the Bateau Mouche
spreads its lights
catching us in full embrace:
a coiled shell
with our jeans yanked down
around our knees.

Does no matter who sees us,
you say in broken English,
false bravado in your quiver.

The stubble of your cheek
brushes mine
and I wish I was on
that tourist boat,
naive gawker on the prow
searching the riverbanks
for unfamiliar sights.

©2004 by Gerard Wozek

                                                                                                                                                                                               

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Gerard Wozek is the author of Dervish which won the Gival Press Poetry Award. His poetry has been featured in videos, which have been screened at festivals throughout the world. He teaches writing at Robert Morris College in Chicago. Visit his Web Site.