the hair on your shoulder is
wet grackles on the snowy hill
my fingers sucking the crystal air and
white
sun
sluicing our
hurtful stillnesses;
the red flush of my spine’s cup,
the nude retreat
of my defeat swagger,
the wet swathes of molecules
drifting
absurdly upward.
the red ambulance snout pugs through the kitchen window
your limbs thump to the vanmorrison radio.
for all that I have sung shower-ditties in your wet ears and hoisted
up our squealing dollops and
sunk in you the long tooth of love,
here now oh your crystalline drool is
matting the hairs on my arm.
