Our bed is elevated. The serval hunts
on wires. Breaks open a butterfly. Dust
crushed in a vertical pounce. Lovemaking
on the proscenium. And lovemaking
in the hardware section. Our bed,
strung on wires. Our serval makes
a proscenium of love. We break
open the butterfly with a vertical
crush. Our eyes closed in deep grass
for up to fifteen minutes, the stillness
before the leap. Your paws clamp down.
Break open our lovemaking: the dust
crushes out. What else so honestly
powders itself to our paws? Butterflies,
hunted. Make do with the wares
we have offered each other. We receive
a proscenium closed in deep grass.
Your serval breaks open her hardware,
dusts our bed. And at my pounce
a proscenium closes. Your paws clamp
our bed: a lovemaking. The hunter
sleeps a hunt in our bed. The feline
twitch and flex of hardware. We elevate
our hands, the bed, we hunt the butterfly,
a vertical pounce. This lovemaking
breaks open. What dust crushes out
from us. What dust on wires we are.
What dust so honestly itself in deep grass
for up to fifteen minutes. The eyes clamp
on wires. The butterfly, dust-hunting.
The proscenium closes our lovemaking.
What else on wires, what else breaks
open: the hunter the hunted loves making.
"Serval" first appeared in Conjunctions
Dan Rosenberg's second book of poems, cadabra, is forthcoming in 2015 from Carnegie Mellon University Press. His first book, The Crushing Organ (Dream Horse Press 2012), won the 2011 American Poetry Journal Book Prize. Recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in jubilat, Salt Hill, Conjunctions, and Blackbird. A PhD candidate at the University of Georgia, he co-edits Transom.