Why I Cried Driving Back to Santa Cruz

I fell in love last summerfall
with a wild lion-maned sailorman
that everyone thought was homeless
and stepped back afraid at first
but then we all fell for him
a little bit (and me a lot) because we envied
his freedom his smile his
happiness and easy lion-hearted way
of never combing his hair or trimming
his beard or even wearing shoes
when he and I walked across
the Golden Gate bridge in October.
He wore my girlsweater
black with little buttons up the front
that he couldn’t unbutton later
when he had to go back onboard
because girls’ are backwards and
his sailorfingers too big
so I helped him in the dark by the dock
take off my sweater fumbling standing there close
and goddamn
I wanted to kiss him so badly my lips aching to learn
his wild lion-taste because there we were
taking things off laughing
in the dark and my body didn’t know
like my brain did that his lionlove
was not mine.