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This writing was accepted for publication
in the 84 page perfect-bound issue of
cc&d (v227) (the December 2011 Issue,



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Confess to Me

William Doreski

Confess to white slavery.
Confess to armed burglary.
Confess to cooking crystal meth
on your range. Confess to running
over motorcyclists sprawled
in the street. Confess that you hate
priests and nuns. Confess to humming
bombastic Wagner overtures
while shaking hands with rabbis.
I know you more deeply than your many
lovers do. Your eyes turn blue
for some, brown for others, green
for your favorites. The night we drove
to the lake and swam all silver
in the uncensored starlight I spoiled
the moment by naming the gap
between spirit and body, ending
forever your love of the bible.
But you’ve never trusted books.
When I gave you Anna Karenina
you choked on the thick Russian names
and blamed me for rumpling your tongue
and souring your favorite kisses.
Later at the Black and White Ball
we danced like the plastic couple
on wedding cakes. Your rococo gown
swept the floor clean. My white tie
twinkled moth-like, my carnation
suggested a shell-burst. Confess
you liked me a little that night
although you went home with a crowd
of men you hadn’t met before.
Confess to harboring symptoms
of benevolent dictatorship.
Confess to pilfering mother lodes
in a dozen African nations.
Confess, confess, confess to me
while we lie in bed and hear robins
trouble over a fallen nestling
and a hawk in the distance whistles
a single explosive note.



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