Thinking in Places

Thinking in Places

and when we get there, again,

we are free. free to go.

because there

is nothing else than fever

and hotly-ticking, scorched time.

I am thinking in places, not in time-

she is too worn down, too elapsing

and my cheeks are glowing feverishly,

my mouth is burning

and my tongue is a hissing

a sizzle.

when we get there

the sun transects the clouds

and is sinking and sinking

and fog emerges from the woods:

that one is yours

and this one is mine.

take it and chill your fever-

thinking in places

not in time.

and atop of me flies are whirring,

using the updraft my body is creating.