Last Call
BY SAEED JONES
Night presses the gunmetal O of its open mouth
against my own & I can’t help how I answer.
He is the taste of smoke, mesquite-laced tip
of the tongue. Silhouetted, a body always
pulling away, but shirt collar in my fists,
I pull him back. Need another double-black
kiss. I’ve got more hunger than my body can hold.
Bloated with want, I’m the man who waits
for the moon to drown before I let the lake
grab my ankles & take me into its muddy mouth.
They say a city is at the bottom of all that water.
Oh, marauder. Make me a drink. I’m on my way.
Night presses the gunmetal O of its open mouth
against my own & I can’t help how I answer.
He is the taste of smoke, mesquite-laced tip
of the tongue. Silhouetted, a body always
pulling away, but shirt collar in my fists,
I pull him back. Need another double-black
kiss. I’ve got more hunger than my body can hold.
Bloated with want, I’m the man who waits
for the moon to drown before I let the lake
grab my ankles & take me into its muddy mouth.
They say a city is at the bottom of all that water.
Oh, marauder. Make me a drink. I’m on my way.
A 2011 Pushcart Prize Nominee, Saeed Jones received his MFA from Rutgers University – Newark. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in publications including Hayden's Ferry Review, Jubilat, Quarterly West, West Branch & Blackbird. His chapbook When the Only Light is Fire is available from Sibling Rivalry Press. He blogs regularly at saeedjones.com.