Lost lips part like the eye-opening sun horizon,
An advent recalling the misty memory of june's air
Brightening the hills in our bedsheets with autumn leafed patterns.
In the places where my vision lines meet His rays, there extends
A celestial sonic boom, peeling back the layers
Of what once was evening.
The darkening spheres of my face bathe in the sigh
Of your whisperingly swaying lily wrist
Wrapped ubiquitously in red and blue longitude lines in pale skin veil.
Wandering lonesome in one, I know, is blood pumped
From my own otherwise aimless arteries - beating the passing seconds
On their dancing pump-drums and announcing them
Like guests at a party.
And softly, beyond the cavernous mouth hole of our comfortless comforter
Two legs entangled like taffy, teased and stretched at Separation
And his cruel scythe-like thought summons. And
My eyelashes know they can only bow to you three more times
Before Apollo arrives and the two of you elope
Off down the mountain.
