These keepsakes

I rid myself of

rendered in time,

rendered in blood

the switches turn to red black

in a holy room

where she broke her bottle mouth

on my concrete lips

and split within the peach

of cloud shampoos

dripping down the wind shade

a shelter's wax walls

undulating beneath her wig.

Straps for the sun that speaks

across my numb fertility

Your lexicon of ice

on a tired planet

surf's tongue for dirty hands

a lunar dock to a hang a hook

or a ballroom flashing

for fur lined leather gloves

and masks of labial glaze

levitating in funereal highlights.