Stephen Nelson - I’m eating salmon

I’m eating salmon. You taught me to cook because cooking & fucking & shitting are some of your favourite pastimes. I’m ready to love but you’re in Jamaica where they eat sweet fruit & drink spiced rum & fuck in the sun on white hot, shimmering beaches. We’ll fuck in the Spring in Canada & cook in the evening when you get home from work; I’ll have written a thousand words, all thrown from my belly, most of them shit, except the ones I fished from an Omega-3 dream of the islands - I LOVE YOU ON THE MOUNTAIN I LOVE YOU IN THE VALLEY I LOVE YOU WHEN THE GALAXIES ARE RADIANT WITH CUM. The salmon are spawning on silvery gravel beds & the ocean has swallowed the river’s release. There are fishermen in Jamaica who live on the beach, smoke weed & drum a translucent astral effluvia. You’re part of the procession of the emerald moon to its dark, palatial spawning grounds. How much joy can heaven spare? I don’t have time to shed my salmon karma. Before you left this morning, I watched you fan your face with a medicine cabinet door, as if your quicksilver complexity wasn’t nutritious enough - I won’t need supplements when we swim the deepest night together; I’ll need your knowledge of whales & the way you dredge the oceans with a cool, comedic undertow. I think I mentioned Usain Bolt. My God, there’s nobody faster!