Kevin Simmonds
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Mardi Gras
Across the club is a man on fire—
phoenix of mine
burnt offering of cologne
Calvin Klein briefs
tight abs and arias
on vinyl.
I’m fierce with house and tonic
Chiaroscuro:
how they see me, feel me, taste
but never hear me.
Dangerous geisha,
you’re so comely.
Tell me, where’d you fashion that kimono—
so dark?
Song of David
Amulet and apricot
give my voice an expensive
leathery sound.
It never grows dull—this life
Everything fulfilled
with imagination.
Granted,
a father who worked in the Marcos regime
isn’t glamorous
but half a world away
it delivers your hands from calluses and blood—
if only temporarily.
Pardon me
but didn’t we meet at one of David’s parties?
Yes, David Madson. Yes.
He was found on the edge of a lake in Rush City
just north of Minneapolis.
Aubade
Possessing you seems impossible now.
Your closed eyes scan my body—
useless and contracted
hell-bent
on morning relevance.
Last night our bodies seemed endless.
Am I your renaissance winch,
parting mouthfuls of hair in your lap?
This morning as penance,
I’ll take whatever you give.
Aria on Vinyl
Sipping tea with Versace
and I see him
beyond skin and insignia—
my final broach.
I am plaid and khaki. He—
the whole world.