Words for us remain, like:
bliss, kiss, missed, & I insist
you are all the snake & witch
stories I have ever heard or told.
And, yet, where I am alive with a worse
thirst then sometimes anxiety itself
is when your single meaning-me-
again-look roils out from those cauldron
dark eyes while your sweet lips
deny love with more heat than a couch
on fire with love's own passion. And all this
exceeding hell brought on by heaven knows
where this can go from, for Christ's sake, here.
With jagged lightening blistering our sky's blue limit
under so much thunder I can even hear
your damn love thinking of me still.