the porch seems bare in the sunlight.
i smoke thirty cigarettes.
the air spins hot and bitter.
your words wax Wagnerian.
their force makes me frail.
leaves call out my name:
speaking in shining
the gold between the green
that the eyes of others
have forgotten to see
signifies sorrow.
your eyes-
unquenchable, unfathomable
but ultimately blue
promise fealty.
you say that you're a sacrifice
and i am your tender, fragile flame.
you're a child with skinned knees,
skin, bones and ravenous mouth,
lost in the joissance of acquiescence,
lost in this Sisyphusian cycle of scents and resonance that you've called Love,
i can dress your wounds
and pretend for a while
that i too am not afraid to die.