Midnight Snack – the vertigo of your Vagina, the soft spinning of a breast brushed—the paintbrush of my soul—a knitted nipple—a tear sown between both our legs, the dream that danced just below the surface of an Ocean separated by Time and the sadistic sands of Destiny.

"I am always With You!"
   —So says God while We masturbate.
"I am always there!"
   —So says God while we drift and drown.
"I am the buoy that Comes in The Night!"
   —So says God when His feelings falter...
"I am!"
   —So says God when We assemble a shrine made of piss and turpentine.
"I Become Naked!"
   —So says God—standing in the mirror—exuding the oil of oranges and various fragile fruits, fulfilling your vision—sweat glands—the odor of a day fulfilled—the end of a road—wall of flesh—bridge of moats—the voice of the cottonwoods—the sound of two boats: "Victory or Death!"—hanging over the empty sky.

The table is set: and Now We come to the bread-knife: the flour blooming, the proof of Your Heat, a white vagina, the blade an eternal sharp-hardness—whetted on the the skin of a maid—hard like the anvil beating the Swan.

She is full, feathered, fragrant; flight-prepared, a foregone Conclusion, a winter wasp wanting the Seeds of Summer:

I am the Wing.

She is The Wind.

Her Earth holds my young dreams.