Abrim with sabotaged thoughts

I arrive on your doorstep as a hunger

spilling lilacs from my tongue

like slippery letters,

you a tablet of sky on fire

you are the bright layers of rock

brought out by the grind's polish

of many moons

flowing over the cloaked bodies

of many grand pianos

black daffodil of the finely carved

and silent graveyard

where I go to collect the hair

of my half-gone spirit and be wet

with dawn-hewn rivers

in the curtain of days

that ripple over melted sands

my soul in the hands

of your hands.