not here

gone astray. away to
a country where
charbirds warble. air into
black. put on silk coats
and canvas hats. your face
inked on my wrist. my
breath caught between
your teeth. now speak to the
center of your soul.
then follow you into
wilderness with its
deluding shadows.
we fall in love behind a
spectral church. promise to do
no harm before setting fire
to the steeple.
as a hurricane brews.
as smoke sleeps in our eyes.
not for not, touch
palm to heart. because run
in blind circles,
waiting for orgasms from
yesterday and the day before.
wearing shawls of
improbability. of course,
our hands. the delicate
fingers in motion.
they tell a silent story
to trees on the hill
of ancient birth.