A Wax Abacus

I made your face come
over here even
if it was way hunched
down, a scorpion
and compliant. I
make your face come here
and show me its
the smile, intercept
it with a kick
because Iím trying
myself on mystery,
washing in it. O doggedly
handsome it is you
the red jay tramples
into moving our
limbs they sound
like candlepins which
I can draw into
my body
pretending they are
manifestly yours
and only yours. Iím
tempted to tuck half
a hard red candy
in the chip of your
cheek to create of
its drips the perfect
symbol. Stretched out on
your bed on your back
in my head I stick
my thumbs until
the garage door
inside me opens. Where
I keep images
of your blond beard
smaller ones of
your back and its
barely hair
as my palm
cockily tends it.
Surprised as a milk

In late 2010 John Myers went into self-storage. He has had work published in Ilk, The Bakery Poetry, InDigest, and Word For/Word. John grew up in the Endless Mountains. He and Brian Blanchfield make You Be Tonya.