Suckerpunch
What I want is your fire;
your glorious suckerpunch kisses;
and your ardent pumpjumping spirit,
standing five feet tall
Acid-wash skinny jeans
with zippyrip tatters
and spikey whiteblond hair
poured from a 500 ml bottle of transformation
with carmine beestung lips
Give me your suckerpunch kisses,
deepily deep and up and down and around
and all over again, till we wear out, you and me
You’re magical, so magical
I just wish I knew your name
and not just your face.

Boanerges
I call you Boanerges
Son of Thunder, six feet tall
Magnificent temper, crackling wit
You stand there, ordering macchiatos and lattes
(and two biscotti, I won’t forget)
Even then, you are thunderous, magnificent
(even when you’re asking for sugar)
Boanerges, Son of Thunder
If only I knew what to call you, but Boanerges.

Both pieces from Finn Gardiner, a San Francisco-based poet, writer, scholar, science lover, philosopher, and human rights activist who may be reached at sodalitas.paludis@googlemail.com