Gesso

He said he always uses gesso first
So the paint on top won’t crack
And here I am dizzy in the tunnel
Lights dividing like swimmer’s lane lines
And I take to the diver’s block and put my hands to the edge and I
I want to call him
And tell him that I’m afraid of it all disappearing
And I don’t even know what “it” is
But maybe it would clump in my brush
Like the oil that wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place
And on the edge of my desk, a red party cup full of paint thinner
And he’s so thin and worn that when we hug I can feel his paintbrush ribs against my breasts
And I know I hold on a beat too long
And I know he is wondering when is the right time to let go
Is it now? Now? Now?
He says he’s bad at finishing but good at starting
And I think about his underpainting beginnings in gesso and acrylic
And I watch him teach
And think about what his face looked like
When he was inside of me
His eyes and his mouth on me
Between my legs
Humming in the dark as the blood dried opaque on our skin
And I’m afraid of it all disappearing
But “no,” he says softly, “no
Remember what you said,”
And I think about him pouring gesso
On every surface of my body
So I won’t crack
I won’t crack
I won’t