Blood has gathered twice--
once in me, once on me.
It's no longer recreational
this crime scene in the name.
Add it to the list you keep:
The things we do for love, etc.
She wipes it up, a loving maid
throws it overhand
to the darkest corner of her room.
When the nightstand candle's blown
it smells like birthdays
for some seconds, but really
both of us are dying:
slowly, surely, surreptitiously.
They'll hang us high for these
sins and mortal treasons
but for now we'll savor
the afterwards bliss
and try to dream of better places
where the dream has yet to crash.
Don't judge the man who says
what you've only dared to think.
When the bricks fall you'll need friends.
The roster will surprise you.
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