The Fine Art of Maintaining Virginity After Use

long after I looked at the scars—
long after I saw time draped across
this tapestry of skin
as though a snapshot expresses anything—

when the moon was folded over
asphalt and the sighs night releases in August—

in that precise moment the assembly line falters
and everything sails out of windows
into the woods/into the sun’s seine—

then I know that my eyes are
an airbrush for the moment passing
like ants/linear on the linoleum of this place—

I walk the rails/tightrope walker falling
into the never ending sea of possibility and belief