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.
