Marco Polo

Marco! In goes that night
between my ribs and my hip
in Lisbon, in a dingy cockroach-infested hostel
we shared the upper bunk bed, cheek to cheek breathing
through smell and noise, giggling certain
next day would be better, and
it’s out, Polo!
 
Here comes another one, in
through the elbow, Marco!
that time we took a bath, candles and wine
you’d covered a lightbulb with a towel that started burning
and you said, “We even got smoke”, second before realising and
jumping out the tub, our laughter
flutters down my arm and out my fingers. Polo!
 
Marco! In goes that day
at the nape of my neck
we carried the mattress to my new apartment
and you said something about aging together
and I wanted to make love to you
that instant on the street at the mere
thought of growing old with you, and
out it goes, from my bellybutton – Polo!
 
 
I am all holes like that, hallways
and trapdoors, behind my ear
there’s a nook, and a space
in my stomach, and long
tunnels long abandoned
 
our moments run around, in and out, caught
like children in aimless play, their feet padding
on dry earth, their voices rising in the dark – come and find me!