limned, i warrant you
put away dry and stained--
in autumn, in a pewter november
you were my next-to-last,
or next-next-to-last. heart laid away,
countered, stitched into sachet like dried
cranberries in a pocket, picking up
razed and cracked:
the five-point day that ever is
when night is not. like a dry horse,
galloping and wheezing.
open your eyes, my first love.
open your eyes on your shelf of silver and bronze
staring out the rough-rimmed eye-holes of a mask
the texture of corn-husks. memories that
make me feel dead. like sand in the sockfist
of love. space space.
of love. space.
change is either
all we have
or all we require,
my last love, my apocryphal diamond.
i anticipate you with the fervor
of coal, melting, melted, liquid. heavy at the wrist
with love of you.
pant pant. space space.
period. pant pant