Come live in a chamber of my heart, love,
and let me live in a chamber of yours,
then we'll be nested inside each other alternately
like an infinite series of Chinese boxes—
you in me in you in me in you….

And when we go to Chinatown
for a series of Chinese dishes,
you'll choose the food that I like best.
and I'll pick the plates you're fond of,
then home to bed we'll go in a Yellow Taxi,
too full to fuck comfortably.  And so

while we wait for the chicken fat to be digested
we'll play Chinese checkers or read Li Po,
and when we're swollen only with lust and
fondnesses, I'll fondle you slowly from your
toes to your nose, and you'll burst into blossom
like a China rose.

But where are you hiding, my love, and what
are you waiting for?  I suppose you're waiting for me
to get a fucking job, and you're waiting for me
to wear a decent pair of shoes, to buy a new car,
to brush and floss my teeth, to buy us a house.

I agree, my love.  I understand your needs
completely.  But couldn't we compromise
a bit?
Isn't that what love's
all about?
So here's the deal, dear: I'll brush and floss my
teeth, and get me a new pair of sneakers, and you,
my love, can get the fucking job yourself, and buy
the house and the car with quadraphonic speakers.
Come here, my dear, come kiss me on the mouth.

But, of course, I'll die much sooner than you do,
since I'll be 20 or 30 years older than you,
and you'll weep at my funeral and probably faint;
and you'll wear a black dress for a year or so;
and even though you're a luscious young widow,
you'll never re-marry nor ever again have sex
with another man, or a woman, or a vibrator;
but you'll sit all alone by our window,
with your luscious long legs crossed securely;
and you'll read my poems and Li Po's—
tears in your eyes; and you'll gaze wetly
at the big photo of you and me
which you paid 20 bucks for at Yuen Lui:
and you'll wait, heart swelling with hope,
for death, that pimp wearing yellow shoes,
who will take you to me in heaven, where
I'll be waiting for you, my love.

And when you get there, I'll show you the ropes.

Harvey Goldner
The St. Lawrence Book Award
The St. Lawrence Book Award
The St. Lawrence Book AwardThe St. Lawrence Book AwardThe St. Lawrence Book Award
The St. Lawrence Book Award
The Adirondack Review
HARVEY GOLDNER makes his first appearance in The Adirondack Review.