The torrents which fall from your lips 

Do―all maladroitly-mimicked sounds—lynch, 

In the coiling meter of a minute

Stolen by golden ether, but still menaced; 

Such flurries against those faces 

Bewilderingly complacent 

Will the chilled impatience 

Of your words all-the-more hastened 

As lateral lectures—sanctioned

On mattress-muffled implications—

Afford breath oscillated

Albeit generously weighted

With charming, bright affections

Wielding fallacies frozen in inflection 

Within context of the cadence therein 

That coaxes you to sleep again   …

Where you are, through me, interwoven 

Whispering queries formed by quotients,

All ascribing us these soft moments—

What striking, ’twixt both, that most potent

And alighting the protracted arm of misconception

By providing your heart prompt for resurrection

We fashion chemistry with cardamom

Paint our organs by rye or rum

Though whiskey begs this question:

Do you adore me—or are we in love?

The windowsill is of colours which

Stain our lives via worn and stitched

Hearts cut out for pop-up lives

The chapters all these months contrive

Blueberry smoke kisses the light,

Refracting, through which laughter glides

Imploring the room to bloom more wide

Across vision that lacks precision by night

Stories lace the untraced minutes

Coercing smiles from ugly twists

Of mouths much too familiar with

The so-cordial sound of round punches

Minds stubborn toward the gravity

The rocking chair thus accords me

A decent share of unbalanced streak

But your hand fits mine, finds the seat

A man named Joseph starts up guitar

Bivens, outside, tries to hug the stars

Ash expires across the table in silence

Memories not yet lost become near-violent

I stare and sigh and almost ask:

Do I adore you—or can love last?