Pocketbook

You meet me on the edge
Of resplendent where frosted waves
Alone bear communiques
And their short-lived cacophonies
Drown out our halting conversation

You and me we are buried
In quicklime together
Sucked at by the same mosquitoes
Understand verse and
Testament together,

Scribble our joy.
We unwind earthly impediment
To its glittering threads –
Ribbons of ripening expectation
You show me delight's tears shed

Upon the leaves
Of your little pocket notebook

Where you'd written
Out the important dates
And stumbled into prescience

 

We became on those shores
The beginnings of wild precipitation
Your hand over my
Hand and our hands over
Future's gnarled hand.

You and me
In the chasm between
Predilection's ballsy page-turner
And the lusty pulp of
Satan's romance kindling

I call out the true names
Of your games and colloquations

I shed my tears in daylight

I inspect the edges of your pages,
Wrinkle my nose over scent and merriment

We are the warm stream of piss,
On a cold night,
And the leaking out of
Front hall lamplight
We are telltales and indicators

That guide in dreams to
Good footing, to their nests