Days
Pass like searing wind
Through withered branches
Looped `round
Blather
And the sinking mass
Of a fresh death
Blow

You are the
Bend of a lemon sugar kiss
Refined and
Dusted
Upon the crusted wafers
Of a twice baked
Torch song

Let the wine glass linger
On your bottom lip;
A trigger slip
Red is the color
Of everything
Inside

Your skin sloughs

And
Fuses to the soles of my bare feet
I breathe your life
Like the spit
Of a raging fire

You turn
Too fast to see