Made in a poem
facade a big dog howling into
the blackness his
kitten running away hissing.
So right, according
to our alibis, calling us, we have no chance, yet we do fine.
We are steep! As any mountain crest, we shall mount together.
I see your breast heave. Mine is cleaved into the memories
of a dark night we smelled and sensed
within the stinking madness;
blurred and bleeding we managed,
to find each other.