Two flowers on a wet headstone: we lie
on the covers under the covered black sky.
The salt dying down your jaw line
is mine—blank eyes,
the kill you for a prize
the cannibal holding you
tonight. You would hate getting it out of me;
takes infinity — bored
I’d look up: above the bed
frame a framed ocean line, a sun I can stare at.
Introduce you to the void;
we’ve been driving on the earth’s casket. Stitch
the memory to the dream like my process
captures that crimson egg but begets a blurry sunset.
Ephemeral blue room, black digits
on the nightstand lighting my eyes.
A few seconds, and then nothing.
– Long Beach, CA