Abscond you sons and heirs! Back to your arid origin. No longer will I settle scorching lips to skin, I will be immortalized in the hopeful realization, the possible but unlikey.

space has always heard disembodied
voices--then mouths eventually
opened with shocks of sound.
when that involuntarily comes across,
incantations are dwarfed--meaning to.
as if through a corresponding row of
numbers, that give way to unlikey
shapes that compliment one another.
a cluster of grapes resting on the hip
of a naked woman, lying on her side.
light-canceling curtains purporting
the birthplace of darkness, net
motions loose as color left scheming.
though nothing stirs--per se.