Our Sweet Transgression --

tense, these, the

days

that surround us, our

hustle

for prey consuming all

our efforts, a

hunger deep and abiding; we, here, who

stand

back to back

awaiting the baton, passing on

our passion

to the next in line, this runner, who

will sprint

through a violent wind

to arrive

in some other oasis, there, where

we can

meet again, aging

out

quickly, with

bridled spirit,

this, our

condensed disclosure, can't

you see us there, scaling heights

and laughing, cool

to the touch, ready

to breathe, panting

in the desert air, you

can see us slide under the ice

and surface

with seaweed and Salt

ruining our distant gaze -- we

are the mute puppets

who will

not abstain -- we

hurl ourselves bodily into

every shape

and curve, lining

this, our sex

at our inception, bringing

into life

a battered lung, a

bartered bride, we, then, the

glowing icons

of our sheltered piety

bursting

from our cage so many unleashed soldiers

wondering what to do, who

to caress, when

to doubt

and

when to push the poison through our veins

hoping for

a clean arrival

in the hospital corridor, there,

our Jesus-glance, our

mind made up, we stagger

toward the exit, eyes

aflame

with colored liquid fire --

*