His boy through the kitchen
With lights in his eyes and
Fire in his walk
Treads amongst the grit lain land
With no life but his.
Glaring from the spot
I leech off the slight quiver in his smile.
Resting on walls
Becomes the most certain aphrodisiac,
But how in the absence of matter can
Sentients be with us
Apart from our creased cushion spots
And fake people,
You recorded the most aggressive film -
In the presence of them we’ll watch the
The back of your head is different from
Yet again the profile is off as you turn,
I know your smile,
Strange longing for something that can’t be.
The longing is every strain,
Latched from my chest,
Into every heaven.