It could be the heart in its dark cave,

desire pulling and pushing and the silence

between, but my hands are the monsters here.

I need the flesh of another set of bones.

The warm blood of another land. A new scent

to follow along the trails of night. Here

is a hollow to fill with the purr of breaths

and the echo of heartbeats. Let's ignore the

hand-drawn barrenness of winter's cold and

press ourselves into the budding sparks

of this animal heat.

If you must, leave me to the feral darkness

and the dream of long limbs, feverish bodies

hellbent to defy physics and occupy the

same space. Wallowing in the musk. Let me sleep

until the orgy of spring has passed and the furnace

of summer burns rich with torpor. I will step into

the flames of the first sunset and dance between the

knife points of stars 

.