i am a god
lying in my own meadow
under the sky i created
i'm monumental and
i will outlive everyone

but my mind is clouded and
full of ice-cold sheet lightning
sometimes
daydreaming about finger-banging
alone in my dingy room
i speak to walls with the lungs of the wind
my scratchy pen filling poetry books
that no one wants to read

but you said i have the type of
personality disorder that you admire
and you're just looking for someplace
to snooze and cuddle out of
reach of the witching wind

well i'm the only man left
the storm took everyone else
and i was born in a magnetic desert
at the edge of the world

all of the sudden i'm burning up fences
and breaking up labyrinth walls to
find you in a lush garden i hardly remember
under a tall willow tree
long black hair streaming across
your face and bare chest

you make something in me
leap and sing remember
i told you i have a type
and it's complete annihilation
under the wet rose of your latin kiss