Quail in Rose Petal Sauce

Poem: You are sex;
Quail in Rose Petal sauce         
           
You are the opinion of sex during sex  
and discovered me in adolescence  
   
Some remain silent  
about what they've learned  
For others, like me  
notebooks became condoms  
   
It was a requirement  
until I made the mistake of  
believing I was a guard myself  
in no need of protection  
   
I was working undercover  
for God after all  
   
Poem: you are no pin cushion  
   
You are the prick of light  
that helps shadows  
redress, decently  
   
You were discovered open  
naked, but he will only report  
what is inevitable;  
   
the carcass of a peach  
he entered again and again  
with words to recreate  
memory  
   
Poem: You are Future  
   
I am neanderthal  
earthed, sealed, sinking  
deeper underneath wet black stones  
of my own meaning  
   
I will remain a contamination  
oil spill, dark with wonderful worms  
   
But You will continue  
down your leafy lettuce past  
surroundings softening the blow  
   
Watch whales beach themselves  
on the continental shelf  
from a panoramic view  
   
Notice the steep fall  
to mere interjection            
.          
In death, as in writing  
you find yourself in different  
states of acceptance  
   
The acknowledgement  
no one ever sees the gold  
wing-tipped bird flash  
across your dark night of soul  
   
Poem: You'll build  
   
a basement full of artifacts  
and maybe an anthropologist's lab  
where what remains  
is never equivalent  
to what will be discovered  
   
between someone else's  
latex notebook            
             
~