Show us:
         swaying stories,
         softly storming.
She blew
         blossom, brushes
         forehead; farewell
fruit of flickering frames.

When we watch
and argue,
         (eyes smiling,
          this is me.)
Who wishes
for furtive false films?

“We will”
rectifies reeling reality.

Dry luck
flakes fallow forehead.
       (I’ve come for you.)

It promises, a hundred times, to grow
and recklessly rakes the earth.
My nails: long, pointed, poignant.

Digging into and in with my hands.
Crossing and holing XXO
       (I love you but you’re lost.)

I like when you speak.
     Now you’re making Os with your mouth,
     (or are they NOs?)
Either way, the next day:
protect those little pearls tucked away in your mouth.
From me; a deep red sea diver,
packing myself up.
Weighed down then floating up.

I came up, air head,
breathe — and another she gave it to me: “We’re dead.”
Her tongue was salty. Breath crisp like I’d never left it.

*No soles, no golden grains; white washed out.

Did I   do fine?
I did,   I    followed a beat:
            mine; and in a manner,
     my mind— thumping, turning tables
round bends; corners escaped:
lost a pulse of any quality.

Yet, I feel I can     still hear it,
still remember it, still find it. I'll
hold it closer this time, so delicately,
so preciously. Minding not to squeeze it,
nor to ignore it: to sink    attention
                           to synch affection—
I become a vessel—
and blissful beats bruise her cheeks
a colour that I've never seen before.