Anthony Aguero: Busting a Boyfriend Out of Glendale Adventist Hospital: Psych Unit

And this didn’t really happen,
of course,
But I imagined it
the entire hour I sat across
       From him.
From him —               stripped raw, languid,
        his words scrawling across
               the cold-surface of a table.

I leap across,
  like a tiger to a dove,
                     and attempt to force
      a living-river,
breathing and rushing
and lungs conflating
with the water we’ve provided
each other,
      right into my arms —
what a fool I am.

The crook of his smile,
     crescent moon,
          in its effort to sway each vowel
escaping such wanting tongues —
                One more sweet dance,      
           my love,
and I’ll have you out of here.

    It is hard not to feel
the effect of his river
into my open mouth:
    the sound of a conjoined thirst
not a soul can slake.
     His water is in my arms,
  and I’m a fool.

I am carrying,
    or attempting to carry,
          his dripping body
from outside this place
   with only a frozen lake for a table.

     But I’m a fool,
                    to think Savior.
Only the two of our bodies,
       can influence the dance
  of the sea,
         but I’m a fool
                because I know,
              I know
I’ll have to leave the roar of us


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