Once Upon a Time in Chicago

You closed the chipped screen door,

As brass and lacquer slept,

Hidden from their old shine.

Your motion was smooth jazz in the ryegrass,

And I pictured the uncolored terrain of Oak Lawn,

Dilapidated, with broken little houses, scuffed brick,

And an essence of splendor withheld.

I wanted to take you from Archer Avenue,

Into the forest of high steel,

Beyond the industrial district,

Where Tomak, the Polish guitarist,

Strummed for metal and folded paper.

I remembered the slam poet at the Green Mill

Who said some motherfucker smashed his face on a sidewalk.

He was bold like wicked asphalt,

And I thought, "What lightning must live in that guy?"

Notes of the city tingled in the fray,

Arousing aortic pulse deep within my gut—

I craved heart to birth dense magic,

Before I climbed your high rise with fire roses,

Pulling thunder from the lungs of the city,

And rising from canyons of mortar and cement.

Your mouth tasted the way lavender smells,

While the DJ's spun vinyl through our walls,

And you spoke like magma,

Welling up in burning fragrance from your center—

"A woman should only let a man touch her body

After he's touched her heart and mind."

We poured warm tremolo into our veins,

You with green glass held cold to your lips,

I clutched my bottle of Glenlivet,

And the streets dripped with grit and fire.

We moved through boiling city lights,

Becoming rhythm in the dark hours, like hot-night-salsa,

Tension in our arms, passing each street corner

With a cross body lead.

The glitter of Lakeshore spiced the shine of our eyes,

Before we planted our dry feet on the waterline.

My hands baked into your warm skin,

While your fingers slept in mine,

And we glided like molten silver,

Cutting rivers through charcoal and coarse canvas,

Bringing fruit and flower to moonlight,

As we stitched ourselves deep into the black.

(Originally published in The Auburn Circle, Fall 2013.)