VI.

I am fine with your bullets decomposing in my blood,

Your tiny iron atoms burning in my smile.

Hallelujah to the arcs of lightning in your fingers.

Hallelujah to the almost unbearable summer dusk of your presence.

εγω εμι for the smoky coffee dream of your kiss.

Forever reds into the firearm devil flowers of the America for which we retreated to the desert,

When we were torches in the darkness,

punching holes in hell with our tiny, supernova lives.

I am glad for the archangel elegy of your nakedness,

In the asphalt spearing through mountains and farms and plains

And deserts into the sinking sun in the western edge of dream.

And I find a breath for you again in the who is who was who’s coming

Of the savage explosion of ghosts and orchids

Singing songs that fill with fire the space between the Pleiades.

When you are cooling between my sheets.

When you are crushed and light and numb of feet.

When you are the question mark,

That tells me how to speak.

When.

You are.

The never.

Again.

When you are the cure the kill the symptom,

And then come back to settle

For the love that I have left.