Trips to Shanghai taking photographs
of junks that were full of bones
Forgotten pixels stashed in the cover
of shade in the corner of the room
drawings in pastel paint brushed on the walls
You fell from the sky and crashed into my eye
I flew from the ground and landed in your thighs
Crucifix Sunday's and brunches in mobs
We drank the nectar of Pine trees
and redeemed our throbbed wrongs