I need villanelles of you pulling

我需要你的十九行诗拖曳我的呼吸,

my breath like lines moving down

如同行文沿着页数下滑时，

the page and the promise of rhyme

承诺的押韵让我侧耳倾听。

bending my ear. I need a sestina

我需要一首触感的六节诗,

of touch, patterns of palm, stroke,

手掌的纹路、抚摸、轻扫、擦拭和揉捻—

skim, brush, and rub returning—

循环的声音和压力，我在骨头中欣赏。

a cycle of sound and pressure I

我需要八行两韵诗的副歌,

apprehend in my bones. I need

如同一段例句从你舌尖滚落,

the triolet’s refrain rolling off

新鲜而细腻，在这里，这里，还有这里。

your tongue like a sample, new

结构，因为结构我需要戏剧的角度，

and nuanced here and here and here.

我们肉体所建构的爱。

It’s all structure is why I need angles

我想你。这种痛楚比残废的脚，被迫的押韵

of play, the love our bodies build.

还要酸涩。如果你离开我太久，

I miss you. The ache's more sour

你会先丢弃什么？节奏？诗行？回来吧。

than a dropped foot, a forced rhyme.

我们的十四行诗是床单上的十四个褶皱。

If you're free from me too long,

一个光的对句给你的眼睛赋予绿色,

what will you jettison first? Meter?

离我我的眼只有几寸，如同抑扬格在抑扬格上攀升。

Lines? Come home. Our sonnet’s

求你了。我需要你变成一首俳句：

the fourteen creases in the sheets.

浓缩在音节里,

A couplet of light greens your eyes

赤裸在最后一行的转折中。

only inches from mine when iambs

ascend atop iambs. Please. I need

you in haiku: distilled in syllables,

laid bare in the last line’s turn.