behind the red behind the white
hiding in the light of my sunset spoons
knitting renegade blood vessels
left behind on ancient stone
in maps of forested labyrinths
and the torment of gorgeous creatures
melted scales that bring love back to life
with a wincing gash.
She is walking over dams
watching active water,
seeing the animals that carry me
and the rogue moon
of luminous moss,
caught up in my teething culture.
Desire is her grid of dreams
but not her conqueror,
the flying ships don't dent
her slick dark glasses
or her hyacinth mood.
And it takes me past the reeds
played by amphibian masters,
past the ass-prints and
the tit-prints she has left
on wailing walls, far past
the living buildings and
their courtyard halls.
I am where her venom falls.
The couches float like coins
in a strong whirlpool, they'll settle soon.
The bedclothes make a palpitating tomb.
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