This evening is a violent riot
of technicolour eyes living
vicarious in I lives, in you
whose sun has traversed its arc of sky,
whose afternoon shadows pale in the window.

A winter in effect glistening, remote
& I hear ears throbbing,
the radiation you gave me
a lost beginning
a shoulder blade to cry on
a glowing foetus.

My many hours collide invisibly
& you tend them like breath-flowers
to press in your pages of mirth.

If I taste you, temptress
my spinal cord pricks, wings shoot
through my back like wind blowing
through whistles, like a friend
haunting me. Icicles hang over my trachea
when I am spoken to, I bark
like a salamander, I pass out
like a light switch.

I embezzle you
crooked as a storm in blazing hay
when you picture, hear diamonds
invent riddles in a can of worms.

When you were a movement, I positioned it
casting beeswax candles of your face

I throw pots the shape of your sacrum
& kiss the coccyx

hardening like my arteries.