Our good sex was building
a Babel. We were fucking
our way up the tower
and God saw us coming.
And so there came
months we could not
fuck. We remembered
the tower as it was written:
The people God slung
all over the Earth, speaking
incoherent to each other
as we do when you moan
the dishes, say I don’t listen.
And when I say you cut
the bread crooked or
over-salt the pasta you hear
my words as Greek and I know
our sex was looked at
and the Lord said: “Look,
they are one people
and they have all one
language; and this is only
the beginning of what
they may do.” And so
you come to me at night,
and some nights I come
before you: humble flesh,
with a different tongue.



First published in Gutter Magazine (2010) and collected in Tomorrow, We Will Live Here, 2010.