Brooklyn Bridge

apologetic lights soft, moth wings beat glass,
laced, bridgeless, over the teeth of the skyline.
hands swollen from salt (and thinking of boys)
hold the peeling-paint rail to steady the eyes.
as they watch, dark eyes, drink up reflections
of dusty halos of street lamps off black water.

your name passes soundless by my lips.
the word is the same shape as your kiss.
your eyelashes are too long for a boy.
they brushed my cheek when you blinked.
your hair would sell for a good price
it is as heavy as gold.

still, I am at the river, dreaming.
the wind that hints of sea water wakes me.
the lights hang on the Brooklyn Bridge
glowing like my thighs’ treasure
naming the shape of the invisible bride

words fail between us.
so many are known,
that no two words,
not love, not lust,
can name the same dream.