Aubade 32
- Aubade 32
Hypnotized by vapor unfurling lazilyfrom the coffee mug in a yawning stripeof 9 a.m. sun, you said I like when lightmakes visible things that wouldn't be.& I think of the freckles on your shoulderspressed there by summers in the surf.Dalmatian-boy, in two shades of gold.Next, I think of the dust falling like embers orincandescent confetti in the primeval quiet ofyour bedroom window's square gushof dawn before you woke up. Your hairlike Jason's golden fleece—something forbidden& stolen anyway. Yes, I met you becausemy friend loved you. But since the car crashI can't hold my tongue when I want something.I've seen how fast everythingcan go. I've noticed very little in life.But I've noticed how sleep's abandon
makes already beautiful people unbearable. This morningbelow your jaw a shadow like the one the mountain made,inked the end of our hike blue. The day beforein the enclosed porch in late afternoon, I gave you head& your cum tasted like the moon liquefied & the sunlight madeeverything. This morning I looked at you& thought I don't have anywhere to be. [End Page 46]
Aimee Seu is a third-year Poe-Faulkner Fellow in the University of Virginia's MFA Creative Writing Program for poetry. She was recipient of several prizes, including the 2019 University of Virginia Academy of American Poets Prize and the Temple University 2016 William Van Wert Award. Her poem "The World" was a semifinalist in the 2019 New Guard Vol IX Knightville Poetry Contest, which was judged by Richard Blanco. In 2020 she received the Akron Poetry Award and the Los Angeles Review of Books Poetry Award, and her forthcoming manuscript "Velvet Hounds" was a semifinalist for the 2020 Jake Adam York Prize through Copper Nickel. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in several venues, including Ninth Letter, Pleiades, Raleigh Review, minnesota review, and Runestone Magazine. She is a Philadelphia native.
