Death between the eyes.
How we could have known
who left with red in their hair.
To give me a terrain—unutterable
when I learn him by taste. 
A god sits in the kitchen watching us 
keep score on the scorching of ourselves.
We eat with all the hunger. 
Curvilinear passages & shuddered core-strings.
Entering the sheets like a body in drought.
I may open myself in the chilled morning.
Become unfiltered into first desire, then nowhere.