Love unfurls in the small hour of our moment in the dark
and blooms like a caterwaul of siege-engines, churning pearls into vice grips
clutching the heart where it numbs best; restoring the vulnerable to the throne
and tossing the agony of pointless birth signs
over the Niagra Pause
of our downhill
telemetry.

Love stuns at rest, like a spoonful of lightning from an olive press.

whatcha gonna do?