I.

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