inverted prism drops
shake loose
  from
   your
lens-curved glare//like
waylaid promises in an urban legendary
night

as
painted toes curl around their harpy-perch home.

as too, rests :
the
spit on your cheek and the
gun-metal.grey in my
hair


like cisterns without a
                           roof .

like the unnamed clouds
       behind constellations .


like a fool’s alchemic
                      love .