Taut, like a candle wick
pre-flame,
before the pillar buckled
and You forgot our names;

there were city lights here, once,
or so I heard it said—
I figure lights just beckon moths,
as moons do waves,

or faults do quakes (the skyline
falls)
our cells connecting,  
disconnecting,
blinking out like stars;

and turning back, we see the city
through smoke;
“Goodbye, Gomorrah,”
we hum,
reposed in salt.

Midnight eyes, a sad seduction
to parlor jazz, ads burn through windows
rolled up tight on Lincoln Drive,
the skyline drips and sighs with pleasure.
You and I could sleep all night
on our Uber ride to the towers
(we never mind the drunken fight,
we never mind the complications).

Lightning loves the tallest trees, and
you and I? A redwood forest.
But what is love without the static?
(A dead-eyed kiss, a glance at strangers).
Pale, the art that imitates us.
Lungs collapse with rampant laughter.
(We pay no heed to warning signs,
we pay no mind to hidden danger).

Gracious god, I Am
handcuffed to the bed
(white wine and
cigarettes)—
I will not forgive regrets.

This hornet’s nest, a home—
I choke on church bells,
starved of faith—
an empty sternum, bellyache.

Among the living dead,
I speak the language:
“Let me in!”
But I cannot betray my sin.