On the night
the sky caught
fire
bordered on both
sides by black—
cumulus and
wind-torn bay—
you told me
slowly
I was becoming
more
to you and
sugar welled up
warm and sticky
to glue this tongue
to its bed.
My mouth
is molasses so
I’ll write instead
about the heat
of your hand
on my thigh.

She chucked herself from the library,
Five stories blind and hung briefly.
I heard it from a friend.
                                    Laura’s dead.
She found three dead boys,
Hung from cable
                                    and that broke her,
He said.

We threw empty sixteens
From the roof where we gathered,
Spoke each a shattered dream
rushed upon the pavement,
One,
Upon another.
The sidewalk gleamed
In all the shards of Laura,
Green and Amber, Blue and Clear,
And ever farther than the eyes of her,
Splashed out in every blink night town,
In every flick night river where
Everybody drowns.

part of you
for me anyway
will always be there
beautiful
on a light and
tumble journey
watching me
watch your lashes
paint zebra stripes
down your cheekbones.
we’ll run from budgies
and make friends
with otters
out-stretched, grinning
tickling the noses
of long-necked
ungulates and
hunting for imaginary
creatures between
cages

the sun sets on
choppy waters
littered with wet, black
bodies and
you
tell me the moon is
tugging on the sea
while I think
the tide is coming
in and only later
do I realize
how beautifully
how quickly, it seems
you have become my
perfect day