It's midnight and the raccoons
are mating in the trees
their rhythmic, warbling cries
like so much techno dance music.
The air is full of sex and
no connections
sex infectious, perpetual,
reddened on city transit
heading east towards home,
hoping to arrive with
all the body parts I'm saving for you
intact, staring at that hand
unzipping his faded jeans
thinking ankle, thumb, hip,
jawbone.

Leave these alone and he can do
all he wants with his
animal parts.

(May 20, 2003)