The air is too warm tonight, fingers feeling the increase,
the dilation of vessels stretched to infinity, throbbing
beneath the flesh, twinning, snake like in wonder.
You turn to me, eyes like blowlamps in the moth light,
wearing wraiths of a bonfire kindled in the blood that
will boil for its bargain. Woodsmoke a gentle garment
of the needing, giving hearth.
Isis follows us as we walk out across the stars, oh, we
have fallen a long way. Winding our steps like clichéd
notes in a heart tune of the ancient layers of clay and sand,
glass and rubble mingling beneath our trodden out shoe
bottoms, debris making love in the keening dark.
Homebound we turn at last, lest the magic breaks and all
be revealed, revelling in the cloudy cloak of a smoggy dawn,
smug with brightness. But still, the pyre of our hopes burns
a ragged dance of ecstasy, moving to the throb of an unexpected
drum, driving us onto the point of a needle, compassed forever