Like a snail’s grass green spittle
his oral exudations reek of velvet.
Festering stigmata nailed
to his feet and his hands in love.
Old age has no understanding!
He floods me in my dream seas
with pointed fringes of lace-like foam.
My breast-buds are
scalding dagger points.
Were wild geese with scimitar beaks
to butcher my body into bits
my stake-stapled flesh would still broadcast
my love with tongue of fire.
Old age has no understanding.
Overwhelming is
the season sprouting out of embers.
The tree of my body carbuncles of peach
in my cuddled hip.
Come
I’ll wait for you
on fiery stallions.
Harp in hair we’ll soar together
into dreamlake forever after.