Misused word as it is

Boiled in yellow jars for Winter keeping

Yet without transparence, instead, smoke

Succulent mystery, preserved in silent hem

As the smell of furrier and clay pigeon

Stays memories close to their pinching garter

These spent years darkling, indivisible

Poured too fast, some too slow, caution

A girl without hat in cyclone

Your hot fingers inhabit me, I belch recollections

As stars discovered when rain clouds part

So your claim, a thin chain around my throat

Never let go, whispered as we both, sank

Stones in our mouths, plum forgotten in haste

I possess scripture in my chest, atonement

Rings my eyes in manic luster, you swoop

Past the sun, eclipsing need to breathe nor swallow

I turned to the tread of you on my neck

Staring up at bare branches slick with nectar

Finding your lips on mine, rapt plunging claim

Of your hands running electric across years

I’d you’d carved me open, I’d offer no less

This steaming pained need, unquenchable

Set in annul, your black eyes roave the expanse of my heart

Yes, I breathe, yes I cease

Against the shore you wash against, sore inside for your ruthlessness

Misused word as it is

Pull the string, smother light, kneel low

Here … Here … Yes.