Parked in the middle of my street, anchored

by your citadel, distant, bathed in light,

we removed our sallowed skins unhampered

and kissed with breath inflected by finite

touches and teases and remnants of gin, 

of rizlas gracing the edge of a tongue,

of hairs dusting pathways from ear to chin. 

I’d have offered you myself to be wrung 

out and consumed - devoured even - ‘til

I remembered the calm of me, herself,

a curious constant renewed of will,

un-haloed but hallowed, crowned without wealth.

And so, as two forms, distinct, we parted,

a more intricate weave than when we started.