Let me lead you beyond the words --
the crisp white imagination of those old lonely days,
penetrated briefly by only music and prayer,
to hours that never depart from that raw want
of satisfaction, of lips love
stretched out soft and warm in
dark twisted ache.
Let me place my fragile breath,
my very fear of days,
in your sweet mouth
so that you might, for once, take and have.
And I will be for you,
like the endless tug and twist
of purple-gray Time,
fanning out and wrenching inward,
But yielding, in flesh, like clay.