It's something maple,
something thick when
you breathe, like dark
chocolate, like tinnitus,
like overandoverandover
again, hard to explain.
I have never met anyone
that could fade and still
burn like you do.
Smooth violence,
bottomless in all its
eternity, moving in water
so deep the ripples never
make it to the surface.
It's not weightless. It never
is, but it waits there, half-
suspended, fixed and
unfixed, solid but slippery
in your hands.
Hold your breath. She
knows you in a way the
angels don't. There's
something she coaxes out
of your chest, something
dark she rolls her tongue
around.
The act of inaction and the
odds, particularly of getting
by unscathed, may be slim
and far between, but the stares
last longer, everything in
h
o
u
r
s
