Poem

Wives say to me
With their jeweled hands
On top of mine
That there will be space
If I just wait

And I study my naked hands
Beneath theirs
On the countertop between us
And say:

Here, there is already space
Like a wave
That borrows your balance
So you can see what lies
On the shore beneath

Suspending organs,
like flotsam floating
Spreading them out
onto other things that sparkle
Expensively

EEG