Armine Iknadossian: Lost Poem

I looked for you
under the barstool
underneath my wine glass
you were mine for one half hour

stolen by an oil-streaked man
in an olive-colored suit
pinky ring winking
who molested you with his eyes

extracted you from the wedge of my pocket
smoothed you out
decoded you in the alley
outlaw rhythm of my beating eyelashes

my bracelet trailed your shapely limbs
as I transcribed you from the smoky air
found you floating above the candles
let you fall out of your gown

loser to the noise and clatter we are summoned
to grace
amidst flowering pots

you are the wink of an eye at midnight
the end of a bumpy road is home at dusk
the balmy air a shawl around your neck
the streets that catered to your history
the zipping of crickets
the enchantment of the invisible green behind your house
this is your home
where skin sticks to skin sticks to everything
black ovals on paper with curvy legs
so the street lamp glows
and black is the color of night
so you are free here
the railroad tracks reveal your moveable nature
the sun rises in the hour of red
and fantasy is a sliver of lemon sugared
knuckles are guardians of hands
living under bridges of skin
the vigilante vein patrol that screams impact to a wall
a hole in the afterbirth of jazz
in the horn blows of the mad
when your eyes left stains on your cheeks
and necks were meant for kissing
the rope is knotted
a footstool is a sad friend realized


Copyright Armine Iknadossian. Used here by kind permission of the author.