• Kicking up, unstitching quilts of leaves
    Rousing dank, damp, dormant earth
    To mingle with the air she breathes-
    Thicker than the blood pooling on her grazed hands
    That collects on my lips as I kiss her battle wounds.

    It's been decided; she's Peter Pan today
    Finding me flowers to console my skin
    from the blows of her elephantine hands.
    She ignites something in me like sheets of lightning.

    I can't measure volume in volume
    But I'll bet that the crevices of our fingerprints fit
    And who needs litres when I can count the beads of sweat
    That hang between her forehead and my forehead?

    I can't run from waves
    Of this kind of red heat.
    I'm too startled by the static on her mouth
    To give a damn about them swallowing me.