Status Updates From The Fact of a Doorframe: Po...

My mouth hovers across your breasts
in the short grey winter afternoon
in this bed  we are delicate
and tough  so hot with joy we amaze ourselves
tough  and delicate  we play rings
around each other  our daytime candle burns
with its peculiar light  and if the snow
begins to fall outside  filling the branches
and if the night falls  without announcement
these are the pleasures of winter
sudden, wild and delicate

You still breathe, yes—
and my dream with its gift of knives,
its murderous hider and seeker,
ebbs away, recoils

back into the egg of dreams,
the vanishing point of mind.
All gone.
But you and I—
swaddled in a dumb dark
old as sickheartedness,
modern as pure annihilation—

we drift in ignorance.