January 21, 2003

  • with just pinkies intertwined we lay down side by side
    under summer stars, in a cemetery, to watch the world swirl
    far away from the bare touch of our share.
    life takes to life—and now look what i’ve found.


    i think: if the stars could fall,
    they’d fall as i do into love:
    not out of the sky, but into each other.
    but it is the night that falls and not the stars.


    darkness into darkness gathers
    across the scape of crypted land
    as I snuggle into the warmth that you provide
    and likewise you unto the man of me.


    our closing moments suddenly seize eternity by the balls—
    oh my god, no, that was your  hand!
    ha ha ha what are you doing, dear?
    don’t stop…don’t stop…don’t stop…


    the cemetery surges:
    while spirits rise,
    the frenzied scent of heated love decants
    across the shaken firm of earth.


    yet for all the eruptions of rapt emotions,
    our pinkies remain entangled
    like the strands of ivy clinging to the embedded tombstones
    over which we roll, and roll, and roll…


    it’s then that I realize
    that we’ll never, never again be apart—
    for even death as a voyeur unearths upon our thrill
    and these damned ghosts are already clamoring for an encore.


    and so like good actors upon a stage, we oblige and bow
    once again in perpetual animalistic unison,
    with the trail of stars overhead too much confused
    yet our pinkies still, and now forever, entwined.

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