Naked Except Our Sunglasses


on command
we rip ourselves apart

layers of corduroy and jean,
sailcloth, whipchord, doeskin,
I'm not afraid of anything
As you slowly undress for me
and reveal
your secret identity.

Then

slowly

so slowly,
the lights rise up
and i learn all about you
the small tics
and the tremors
of your teeth in your sleep
it’s your random movement
against me, too
it says more than your mouth can
when after time,
those movements no longer
seem random
everything arrives
as each eye lash
springs open
and snaps closed
not like the aperture
more like the fly trap
trapping dust
making use of it
how others have failed

I’m not gonna pretend to be smart
I pray, you remain ever iridescent
like a first draft, not fucked with yet
true love, false start, after false start
will often change color when it is struck by the light
No matter , We hang out in the pitch black
only our sunglasses on.

understood, we make good without moonlight

Maybe nothing ever dies when you're watching

so keep watching me closely

I won't take my eyes off you

keep humming in the kind pink of each other's health

When I can’t believe in anything

Remove your wool, your fleece, your cotton & felt

sent our mirrors down into mt. doom

we don’t cover up, or apologize

we don’t discuss plan or design

the first time I really saw you
the both of us were both someone else.

When our lives are shredded

And our dyes wash out

I'll still remember who you were

No matter what shrinks back

vanishing into the hot water

A walking talking trash can in a useless suit of armor

I’ll try to embarrass myself daily

without any worry, who is watching?

Leave the light on, speak too loud

faux fur, oil cloth, bull denim.

It's easier with your hair wet

thread torn, popped buttons

strings sprayed loose into the wind

insincere apologies  ricochet across a junkyard

start small toxic fires

smoldering and melting off the poisons

As our plastic dissolves away

Until you wouldn’t recognize us

without anything to distract you

Too broke for fur or leather

We're not good with money

But capable with our bodies

I like you better with your makeup off
Your intensity is equal only to your humanity.
but sometimes the best way to strip the paint
Is to set the thing on fire.

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About Bud Smith


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Bud Smith lives in NYC, and works heavy construction in New Jersey, building and maintaining power plants and refineries. His books are the novels Tollbooth and F-250, the short story collection Or Something Like That and the poetry collection Everything Neon. www.budsmithwrites.com
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