This can’t last

How can I –
with the boy just there
smooth, glinting like a blade –
continue studying the pronouncements
of some famous poet
on free verse, even though his
theories are rather wonderful
and even though, as always
the secret of the sea’s present, a tide
pushing our words out from the dark,
night and day, with that indifferent, luminous
persistence that never surrenders but
quite the opposite, rears up
again and again, as if there were
nothing else to be done
faced with time’s footsteps
and if, additionally, he looks at me (once, twice)
nods slightly,
half opens his lips
to whisper something
I don’t understand, but that’ll launch
a bolt, arrow-precise
into my heart
and not content with that, comes over
and asks for a light (him, asking me!)
and sits right down at my table
and flashes, flashes
a smile with no precursor
and drawling slightly
as befits both the hour
and a boy of his age (twenty-four)
says point-blank, the little devil
that his name’s Danilo.
Danilo – are you all getting this?
how can I countenance
all the fine and noble promises
I’ve made, and definitely won’t keep,
and have deferred night after night
for all these years, if
on top of that it’s summer, and the beer’s
rolling like a cyclist on the highway
linking cities and faraway towns
like Brooklyn and Manhattan (did he say he came from Manhattan?)
and I’m feeling like I’m inside a badly-translated
poem but it’s beautiful, as beautiful
as his eyes
black, blazing,
that push me, through the streets
beneath the same glimmer of the stars
(they’ll never tire of being the same),
looking for a place to spend the night
(well, that’s how he expressed it to me, and that’s
how I’m relaying it back to you all now): bro, he said every four
words, bro – are you all getting this? He’s really something else.
Wake up, I say to myself, there’s no way
this can last.
But the poem had suddenly turned into
a really bad film and, naturally,
as these things tend to pan out, a rather pleasurable one.
Hideously pleasurable – I said to myself, I said
to Danilo
and I chose to close my eyes
and inhale, deeply, the warm air that now, yes now
his lips offered up to me so tenderly. That was all,
then later falling asleep by his side, naked,
with the sweet agony of someone waiting for dawn
over Manhattan.