We spit quicksilver into the cracked skull of the moon with our eyes
and sprayed the night with shiny gobs of laughter in fusion in fugue breaths tied in nova.
Your blood boned fingers flicked a cigarette onto the shadows strapping us to orphaned alley bricks
and you spoke of memories wrapped in a tangle of amniotic veins insulating the infinite.
When I squinted I could see the white vesper bells in your throat as petals of a nebula rose polyphonic
coiling in layers like a monkey tail red clamp hands the rear of a serpent to its own fang
around this instant and felt your voice prickle on the cold cliffs of our ink white entirety.
Ocean froth sounded in the wind of the trees and we could hear it in our own shells
the spit of sedimentary punctuation drywall wood floors a tangle of seaweed obscuring current
and from an undertow you hissed of wanting to be your own son
and it was the stars' turn to laugh.