Night passenger.

The song burgeons in the chair,

Rises in wide blue suction

Of the body -

Flaking and transient.

 

I am held in the swift beam,

Eaten cold,

Briefly soaked

Against foreign lights that wink

In our pale hearts.

Falling, falling like the sun.

 

I hear it then:

The thud of empty spunk

Cut away, ribbons from my fingers

That trailed red dreams

Into the hunting ground of night.

 

And the heat that had stirred,

Gathered in a face I knew,

Froze still on the window.

 I see that I might spill

Through her liquid mirror shine;

That the beam might shatter,

Catching eyes in their pools of anguish.

 

It is cool on me,

Cannot bear its thrill on another.