I grip the silence of the knife,
a gasp of iron coercing a whisper
to blood born absent
of small meanings and an edge
too fine lost in your eyes

.

Honeysuckle spills from
the rock walls, the single drop
of nectar waiting. Cicada skins
pause on tree trunks.

I want to implicate you
in my life. If anybody 
checked, they would find
my fingerprints on the
abandoned petals but
your lip prints would be
on the spent stamens.



.

Your lips sell arson,
fanning flames
a wild fire raging along
a topography of senses.
Bottle rocket sparks in the
flickering grass of a drought
blasted heart.
 
I drink the molotov cocktail
of your hair flowing
through fingers like midnight,
a dark dream engulfing me in a
black blaze.
 
I am incendiary and ready,
a sacrifice for your inferno.

.

words die with little sparks,
only in the infinite death
will I see you for a bare second

.