An hour after you left I
blew out smoke--
split apart my lungs in a
desperate attempt for
breath.

There they go--
and I am a wreck
figure
How to ease forward when I've been
taught to attack.

Where your fingers trace my hairline
is wet with the only anti I respect:
anticipation.

so hold me here and
hold me square--
feel my corners;
call them curves
I'll concede to your
cunning coalescence

if our elements combine
I'll be far out of line
to employ my kisses
as catalysts:

if reflection is fifty percent light
do the math and refract me tonight.