"Maximus" by Zuleyha Ozturk Lasky
I took your hazel eyes to my hands,
And kissed you hazel on your mouth.
Darling diptera, Prussian prince
I knew nothing of the dove, loving
until I wished to meet you, and did.
I grew into your prismatic skin,
you pointed to lines you liked, I grinned.
So, the mornings and nights became mine,
and my favorite—your shroud-winged
satin sheath. Falling into you is easy.
Falling. The sling of life as is.
Always, I am naked with you,
even when clothed in clothes,
always thinking of the pulse
of your wrist, jealous of the shirt
cuff that gets to listen in, come
to think of it, the truth is in
the dust mites, mainly human skin,
yours and mine continually mixing,
that armchair you sit in, the sun
harping on, nonstop awed bursts
of your being. Then, I find
shelter in each cell grooving
your mouth to speak in such soft
syllables, forgetting any concept
of passing. I simply bask in you.
The train sneezes and the birds croon,
even though I see no birds, I am sure
that they are crooning as they do
when the myrtles blush a wink.
You and I, we’ve unearthed something,
that rare and thought to be extinct feeling,
Cairo blue, bright brightening to the point
of brightness, the idols in the ruins of Saqqara,
Egypt. Somedays, in the dunes, I am a ship
without a sail, a frail snail shrinking under
the cruel burial of my head into hieroglyphs.
Cursed. The pit of my stomach sticking walls
of grey matter, mercury cementing against
myself. Then, you come in—yes, you
Maximus, my cosmic flame in song,
sole one who snaps me out of it,
and I’ve snapped out of it.
We listen in, the grass greening
glass of your hands humming—look!
You say that is a goldfinch,
I say that is you coming in.
Zuleyha Ozturk Lasky is a poet currently living in Tallahassee working towards an MFA in poetry at Florida State University. She is the co-founder of the literary magazine Leavings and an assistant poetry editor at Narrative Magazine.
