imagine, as I do,
the clutch of tensed pale fingers
on stain-spotted porcelain

tendons stretch like telephone wires  
under perfect, loving skin.

her slop spills over loose lips,
drains itself through antique piping systems,
leaves her skull a musty cave,
slowly panting for revival flames.

                                    he stretches.

the fingertip connects to the handbone
connects to the wrist
connects to the arm/chest/neck/face
         each surveyed in turn, slowly,
         the irises staggering over cloth and hair.

  *his smile is a sunrise through fog,
   the song of angels into a bathroom wall,
   heartbreak from a distance.

there was no night,
only daybreak over two bodies
locked in a mobius strip.
                     one twist of mind, a sleight of fate

and they lay disheveled.

                    *quiet, the breeze
                     snakes through curtain
                    
                     exit stage left.