the soft curve of chance
                              could not bite me

(though sometimes i wish it would)

but fashion a path
                   that takes me to heaven



you - almost skyward
                                      yet equally so
                                             armward

draped head in gold&sunlight with
your planetary blaze

maybe less avessel for life but more
                                           incendiary

electric,plasmic & so not crystalline
despite your form,inspiteof how you
shimmer & dance & fadein&out of it



you are the future i see when i sleep
my temple to your hip

it is my fingertips in yours & on your
it is my lips on yours & my chest on
your chest so flushed&affectionate it
is my legs between your legs & my
knee creeping up inside it is the glow
inside your stomach it is roseblossom
on all your cheeks & neck it is
the bitemarks on your thighs it is
my temple on your hip. it is my temple;

your hip

[a one-time coin
                                in the pocket of]
the verb 'to be'

i could cycle through my zoetrope
life & grab the belly fat of fortune;

his lifepink scar
                            bleedinghardtruth.

i ; moonhooks

she shone like an astigmatism

i watched her arms
                              like radiance
  grab each corner of the sky
     & hang it on moonhooks

bleeding,began to melt the day
& i felt her wash
                   down my shoulders

i tasted her then
    & saw her (clearer than ever).



ii ; rockshine

you shone like an astigmatism

in a more
                 wo/rld
                            bre(ak)ing
                      ­                        way

   crystalline, the sky scattered
rockshine like lunar bredcrums
     &    4    one    point    three    
  
   seconds
                  i felt you on my skin.

she crumbled,
                                   out of
the envelope & into
                               my palm

  dissolved into my fingers
in her own world breaking
                                         way

in there,where two magpie
sit                      cross-legged,
the air carries kismet like a
newborn                     crying
    at the very semblance
of the long      walk     away.

i've laid in light lesser
than your
                    phosphor
escence

the god judgement
which you bestow

on my shoulder
    aching
          gift.