Heat rush of heaving. The heart
throbbing in the inner ear, wrists twined
with a red thread of electricity, lustered response.
O Ham, she said, and swooned
in the rattled reunion and sudden summer
of thunder.
His mouth was the yes that was wished on,
feet angled in. He said, My but aren’t we?
Si, she said, aren’t I
a rampant array
of negatives bashed and belittled?
Come in, come in, my little passion flower, he would often say.
An elevator’s assuasive ascent, Icarus clicks
between floors. A head turned
as she entered the door.
…
Did you hear what I said? he said. You would be
so easy to love. Indefatigable mortar—
bitumen or pitch. An irreversible welding.
Wasn’t this
what is bliss?