THE BURGUNDIES AND CABERNETS.THE TANG AND THRUM AND HISS
THAT SPIRAL LIKE EGYPTIAN SILK,
BLOOD BIT FROM A LIP, BLACK SMOKE FROM A CIGARETTE
NIGHTS THAT SWELL LIKE A CORK.
THIS NIGHT. A THOUSAND.
UNDER A SINGLE LAMPLIGHT.
IN PUBLIC OR ALONE.
VERY LATE OR VERY EARLY.
WHEN I WRITE POEMS.
SOMETHING OF YOU STILL TAUT
STILL TUGS, STILL PULLS
A ROPE THAT TREMBLED
HUMMED BETWEEN US.
HUMMED, LOVE, DIDNT IT.
LOVE, HOW IT HUMMED.
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