your words fortify the strings that tie my heart together
and with your regular field dressings, your mindful dactyls
pruning the excess fat from my anguished droopy eye; perhaps
it is tomorrow that is young and I will never know your fingers
on my face or your face upon my fingers. These are the gelid slopes
where the tern's claw decides our fate. Woman's Fugue emblazoned upon
my sudorific brow and overtly outstretched limbs. Every day is heavier than the last, and the latter brings unfaithfulness between the