a short spiral of your hair,
a black spring,
clings
to my tongue,

taken from a knot
you waited days
to have undone.

come, my love, and help me forget
that love helps me forget
what clever monkeys we are,

that this love is chemistry,
and the chemistry is atoms
and atoms are made of pieces
made of pieces made, perhaps,
of pieces.

and help me forget
that you helped me forget
in exactly, exactly, this way
an infinite number of times before
and we have that many more to go.

my love, help me remember
there is just this moment
and everything is real.

I’ve got the red glow
of a stubborn black briquette
soaked in petrol, lit and fanned.

Soaked with that other petrol,
carrying the shrill scent of flowers,
and by lit I mean coaxed
into flame using a primitive friction
method that remains popular.

You keep fanning the glow,
burning up the fuel,
leaving the ash
it was packed between.

there is a perfect sin
that severs us from the heavens
and binds us to the earth,
that pushes the stars out of reach
and locks us in our skin

it is impossible to resist
and when we finally surrender
we will laugh and dance
for everything we thought lost
is all smaller than we are
and can be held in our cupped hands