forward back

hints of summer
on Sunday:

I found myself
(again) heading west
remembering various de ja vu with
lovers and would-be lovers
and unloveds, precarious night-drives
and sunshine also,
more than one of them
tinted with smokey hues
anticipating earth-staining my pristine white singlet,
not so chaste
in my haste to get under your skin

I'm glad you pulled me backwards into you

remembering summer and
it's beautiful spontaneity
driving one hour for a stranger
and seeing into the future
with the hard-edged certainty that frequently carries me
into choices that surprise
even my self

(who needs to travel
when you've a backyard-full of tourists)

remembering summer and
that hammocks are not only
for sleepy outdoor New Years' nostalgia
but also belonging
to wide-eyed mid-years in your room
high from not enough eating and too much sex,
the beer grating against my empty, happy stomach
as if Saturday night had simply rolled into Sunday morning
without hiatus

(I could've had
three in as many
but I preferred to spend my energy
on two legs alive
instead of my back)

these weekends there's poems
riddling through me again,
but they rarely get written
because I'm too busy enacting them.