this winter parabola 02

ii.

red-shift, dip. i flatten to this, two-dimensional. you run--mercurial, our night
slick-sharp & poisoned. i am sorry. histrionic. think: remember today: i beaten

gold, flatline of my words to you, mouthing off. even that would be better than
--i know, speaking into the void: even darkness is presence. palpable: long

waxy curves of you, self-forbidden, inviolate. my parataxis doesn't even come
close, & you deny reasons. shrine mentality. i worship, futile, hot. give me more

than adjectives. i would zip into the long striation of your calves & quadriceps, wind
myself in your ribcage, fuse with your spinal cord: indispensability. a fabric

of hydrophobic lipids keeping you safe, knotted into the face of you, set of eyes,
Ichheit, doppelgänger. But now the hair left on your collar, snow brushed aside.