there was a table laid that would not lie

a draft horse body.

bred thoroughly by fire.

pure desire.

how the ruby embers remember themselves with one strong breath.


her surrendering off-kilter, secret spiller.


him entering her.

the three-point-crown-of-flame,


with dark seed eyes,



flickers, her slither, his slap.

the way the old chair opens its mouth.

the way they made the other chairs an anchor,

her root, his hold.

his invested plum now

two cooled grapes, or

a handful of dried currants though,

like the diamond coals,

her tongue

makes it ripe again,

with the quickness of a peregrine.

when you become

eucalyptus, madrone, manzanita.

when you become the center in the trunk-

a window.

when they curl their suits into each other,

his flag draped,

her tail curled.

her victorious puissance,

his magnificent cause.

they roll in the stillness and

pray on fine-point edges.

they temper and tamp.

they play without clocks.

he saws her in half,

she reappears in a sauna.

when you become a golden puddle.

when the sun eats the evening inside out.

when every sound is a sacrament.

when your sweat is an oil,

he wants to bottle her armpit,

like a stuffed apricot,

a cinnamon goat,

an amber honeycomb.

when they leave through their limbs

and come home to themselves

they find that

their recognition

is an engine.

when your heart is a hummingbird.

when wings weave on your walls.

when you become both the feast and the fervor,

and every murmur in the halls.


~ by sidereal on November 15, 2011.

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