Year
I taste the scent of your fruit,
The juice that contains
The howls of centuries,
Of despair within the flesh and soul.
It digs in my heart,
Entangling it in the typhoon
Of your breath as it moves
Along the slope of my neck.
My spine breaks in splinters
Of electric pulse—
Of stars in the night sky,
Heavy as flour in the humid air.
I can’t breathe
In the pleasure pain that burns
Through battles lost,
Through the wingless flight
Where you kiss the sword
And lay it on the broken earth,
Pouring infinite water
Beneath the light of the moon.