when last, under doorway and dream
with lengthened appendages — a name with a mask of moths and months with
eyes our colors

with fireflies and skin shirts and mourning boats in the tipsy tilt of a pretended storm

with despair such an affection some nights, an unsaid part of me back somewhere
with ruiners and colored carpets containing my eyes gone green

with our hands before they touch

with 22 years gone and still I come here to the banks of clouds and rivers
and consciousness

with your leaning pioneer above me in places three unnamed
with my left ear so happy with this end without
with our mouths filled with uninvited lamplight and magnetics
with interruption a moat I’m building water with,
a width of intervals and make

with one aroma I’ve made this, imagine us in a rhythmic dirge
with title
without the brief assassin’s hours
with staples and blood
with the stories I could tell your backside
with my x-ray vision,
my afternoon 12 hours off