if the satellites gather together
to strike at the apartment
with a laser
I might
breathe a sigh of relief.

in the meantime
I brush your buttocks with my eyelashes
and the back of my skull fills with a zig-zagging orgasm.
and pray that the delightfulness
of this thing we are doing outlives
the things which we hate, which
horrify us on barren streets
in what others call daylight.

if the bodies gather together for a strike
I'll buy a brush to brush you totally from head to foot; and
a pick to excavate skies in the places
where the bodies gather together
to strike at us
from their mineral clouds.

our holes walk up the end of our bedroom
and squirm around together
until they become
an outline of pure light;
children get up and walk out of our bodies
and exit this world through
those outlines.