At times when there is only breath between yours
and mine, my legs, your limbs,
where there may be time to eat and feast upon minutes
or miasmas, who knows.
But there are edges of her hands that have not touched,
anything other than her battles and worn velvetine gowns
drenched in blood.
That said, he was clasping his digital anecdote with nothing other than
buckets for feet, which were as cold as iced rivers.
High as the interstellar freeway,
my head collapsed like cotton sheets blown to the ground,
orange eyes saw graph paper skies and
quixotic neon capsules – I flew, not you.
You went somewhere else, apparently,
but I kissed your glass skin
and followed you to sleep.