your lens
tuning itself to me
bathed in viscous red

it thickens;

a smile of pure outrage
pins to my cheeks with such force

you don’t know
how many times i’ve prayed for this:

a menagerie of bottles
splayed out on the table
like drunken bodies

smoke streams from your lips
across a green fall of light,

these days will become nothing
but sections of a film
suspended between hands.

i cannot find within myself
any semblance of aliveness
if not under your embracing glow

i can only pray with ire
to the wisps of the night
you will never find out
how long i’ve waited.