Tonight I hold you again.
After so many hours of dreams
clenched in the cracked dawns,
miserably chewing rinds,
toenails of longing, leftover passions,
scent of coagulated need,
I hold your true burning
uncontained body, unbrushed hair,
eyebrows like tantrums,
and I wind you round my soul like a root
that will fly apart.
Just by rising every day
and entering and leaving
the rooms of this world
you pile defeats upon me,
sent like smoke signs,
scent of conflagrations
over wooden cities
that choke my absent hours.
And so I come back,
having scavenged after my own lonliness
and searched my pain and power,
into the purr and embrace
of your waiting feline blood,
stretched out in the shadow
of your quick and fugitive days.
And I am the happy fool
and the waiting turmoil,
and you will set your songs to the wind
and the catipulted continents.

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