PRETTY BABY
Is it a beautiful thing, Dominic, to look so heavenly? Is it a beautiful thing, to know your mouth falls from my fingertips at night? Was there something you wanted to ask? Did I see your mouth move in the dark? Did I trip over the beautiful line of your jaw? Last night we danced to La Dolce Vita but no one was listening to us, Dominic. I sang to your fingers and the small of your back, but no one was looking. No one could read. No one could hear the language. The lines of my mouth were woven around the laces of your shoes, Dominic. Your shoes were the Klamath weed, tall and bright yellow. Your shoes were the French Beetle, that saved the Western Range.
I need the sun. I need you falling. Is that my beautiful Dominic falling from a cerulean sky? I need the peppermint candy hidden in the palm of your hand. I need the red and white bomb strapped to your back. I need to pull the trigger. Did you find me in your sleep, Dominic? Did you see me and look away? You were my Copán. Did I tell you? I think you started an avalanche. I think my face was covered in snow. I was calling for you, Dominic. I called for my amante invisible but you were busy chopping wood for the fire. What kept you away so long? Were you writing a frightening verse with the edge of your tomahawk? Did the edge of your tomahawk clip my finger, Dominic? Did I bleed red glitter on the carpet? Did I make a mess of the floor you made so pretty? It's a beautiful thing to always be the stranger in love with a warm summer day. One day the bomb on your back will explode, Dominic. One day we will spend red and white warm summer days in Luxembourg chopping wood.
You are so heavenly, Dominic. Were you once a teenage starlet? Did you comb your hair to the side and let it fall into your eyes like the ambiguity of blue? Did the girls fall from the sky like an avalanche? I think you were unfaithful to the peppermint in your hand, Dominic. I think you called your peppermint: mi amante. One day you will make me old, Dominic. One day I will be a child in your arms. You will whisper fifteen minutes in my ear and I will play happily in the garden. I will find your tomahawk hidden in the shed under a pile of wood. I will dance around the fountain singing your name to the stars. I will fall out of my cerulean bed and you will pat me just so and I will slap myself on the knee with the tomahawk hidden beneath the covers. My knee will shiver in twisted shades of pink and red. I will whisper in the night: meet me at the fountain, Dominic, and we will share some lemonade.
Isn't it heavenly, Dominic? Can you hear the stars dancing to La Dolce Vita? Last night I dreamed of you twice; you were a child and I whispered in your ear: but you will always be my pretty baby. I was only joking when I said you will always be the stranger, Dominic. You are the one I knew back then. I had my chance, when the boys were falling out of a pink sky. How many boys fell, Dominic? Did I hear an avalanche? Did I hear you singing? I am Joan of Arc with a tomahawk, Dominic. I was only joking when I asked you to meet me at the fountain. I have no right to drink lemonade with you, Dominic. I have no right to call you my pretty baby. I am a child dancing around the fountain in her beautiful underwear, Dominic. I am a child with a mouth made of glass.