In attempts at parsing this lunar landscape
dusty darlings cast, like shadows, deafening
magnetic interludes, fastened
sutures growing taught as you curl the corners
of your lips
I could ask you, isn't this the listening?
the way we uncoil earlobes, sensing cells, decaying, hesitating
I know that nod, ineffable, you tilt, a canting
square of melody inside brilliant pearl havoc
Have, Okay, begin again, point, plead, tether
we weren't watching, only becoming, with no gauge, a fraction
of this severed silence
reaching a threshold, the gods are shuddering
cock-eyed, a credence to their pervasive absurdity
I had no doubt, you were authoring the interstices,
spectacles beleaguering the severe slope of your brow,
the moon only an afterthought, held in contempt, a night-paranoia
darkness would only be absolute. Our laughter peeling
emaciated, aural as a grin, senses breathing and
tugging at the corners of the room
touching elbow to elbow and outside the sky is growing dense
In all events, it hardly matters
my love has grown like infants
and in an instant it is spent. Am I his thief that carried away, forsake…
It's barely noted in your intonation, we speak like sparrows. A cap of
broken resonance sitting atop our feathery heads.
I desperately want the pieces you are holding, like
circuitry, your comings and goings remain undivulged and ruthless
in tact: it's only such a shame i weren't your pocket watch, reigning
silver-tongued, shaved to gleaming surfaced
out of which, within your breast
pocket, solitary as a button
parties that last too long, I only came to touch your face, and so
numerous signals have loaned their intuited scenes, hooded and sewn up
facing opposite granting heaves of drone
i know a bus stop where there is only the frost, where the fluorescent street
lamps lie about their age. and the only lines that force my existence
ascend like reflections; it's all i can do not to float into the fog
rosy palms flattened against the sky, collecting salt
