how i wish to hurry
  back to arms, hurtling

bearing me into the hollow
of hand full of hours rearing me prolongations of wordlessness —

   bell-jar, your lip,
  smashed into concrete, my lip.

  bleeding, your lip,
quenching the tractable beast, my lip.

  silence annuls, your lip
leaving the noise in me borderless, my lip,

wanting it more than
   how dead trees desire autumn
     light, your lip
  left nocturnal, pulse dare drunkenly away, slovenly from the ground, my lip

  i cannot have it
    anymore.