I watched you boil up nirvana in a spoon, cool
it with breath from magic lips and send it
swimming through your blood. And you through mine.
When you melted rocks, I rolled my eyes at you –
yours rolled white toward moldy ceiling tiles
while you arms twitched, aggravating an old rug burn you
got the last time you passed out on the carpet. And I with you.
I took your sins under my tongue, like sweet pearl
beads, washed them down with red wine
and vinegar, salt and yeast, bones from five thousand
fishes. I have walked along the blackest sea but you parted
the water and slept inside its walls until you
let the weight of it consume you. I wanted to come down
but my lungs couldn’t tolerate the depths of your pain without
imploding in my chest. You would save me from
drowning with pixie dust, you said -- I could grow purple wings
to fly. And you with me. Saturn’s rings were colder
than I expected, but your hands held fire. I needed them close.
I placed myself under them, burnt fingers tracing
my scars and secrets, palms of neon blue holding my hips.
Your mouth moved and words fell from mine, your
eyes became a mirror that reflected the worst parts of the self
I battle daily just to say hello to srangers, you said
mine brought you face to face with the best of you – so
it was that we knew. Neither wanted to see,
only to feel. Turn blind. Your chest against my back, molten lava
in your skin, an extension of the
lighter used to boil up nirvana in a spoon, turning
hard, harder still, covering years of yesterdays in one shot,
mine with yours, forever fossilized in rock.

03/31/2006

Posted on 03/31/2006
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