black night of my thirst

i look into your face out of my crusts of longspent passion. the black snail no longer stirs in my thighs: still, from behind my look, what dark stare of wanting burns in my tongue’s shadow waiting to be called forward by you if you would dare reach outside your youth and into my abysmal currents of death? you will not. how can you know whether in me you’d find baptism or drowning … or first one, then the other, relentless, merciless as the ecstasy of knowing as much and as little as can be known by risk? the fierce closeness of our distance writhes hot between us insatiable tongues of god we’d grow further apart were we to try to grab deeper closer i know this is true yet still i hold your chest to me naked under your shirt your heartbeat keeps you individual and secure i cannot enter your dark eyes with more than a quick dry stroke of lips what sky of stars stings the black night of my thirst you knead my shoulders tread with your feet the throbbing wine of my song