Hey dreamboat, slick with night. I remember you sad, between moons, statues erased by winter. We were on the guest list for the wind. Your voice the jangle of a toy piano. This infinity of skin is made for bullets, for germs. The tiny beaks of mosquitoes. Toenails of the dead curl deep underground. Gloomwounded one, we drop the needle and watch the black record spin.
One kiss beside the sanitarium before the red opera begins. The guards cut strawberries, piling them like small hearts in a bowl. We believe in air, in stillness, in blue pigments of desire. The gift of an eyelash in a napkin. I ask what you are most afraid of. That the world never ends, you say. That it goes on forever.