the way you fit over me is a lock and key.
your arms like the sigh at the end of the world,
simple and strongholding and ohsosomething.
built like the bricks of the factories of my youth,
the ones that would tumble and fall during the
earthquakes we never got used to,
but you are strong and red and tall anyhow.
you, wrapped close to my body like the clothes
my mother sewed for me during the war,
though she died before i fit in them.
the way we turn together,
like the stars and the compass's needles
during the earth's switch from north to south.
(once we loved so hard the earth moved eight feet on its axis).
awake tight inside one another like bones
and the fractures of the desert during the spring rains.
pieces of my flesh break and crack and crawl
towards you during the night; the morning comes heavily
and with trumpets and i watch my jigsaw-body
fit itself inside yours in the purple and blue dawn.
(blue like bruises and the falling night).
