For Walter

Originally Published in the Coin Operated Press Love Issue

My orange iridescent lover sings to me like

the crescent moon told him to do so

& I listen like the sun commanded it of me.

His name echoes in my head,

it’s not me,

the voice isn’t mine.

His face is crooked, his teeth are yellow,

He is the most magnificent creature I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.

His fingers shake before he’s had his cigarette

& my body does the same when he’s not close to me.

I can’t give myself up

But I can make myself small

And I can sit in front of moving images

And see myself in the pretend people

And see him in the real people

Knowing that I’m real, he’s pretend,

and our love sits some place between the two constructs.

What good is it to be real, anyways?

In an illusionary world

All I know is I exist in a place above my lashes and below my hair

He exists fully in his hands and in his eyes

I’m troubled here

But I'm not leaving

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