I want to speak of marriage,
not as agreement but as
element, like air, water, or warmth.

What if the sun did not rise
and there was no such thing as
color, the forests’ emerald

dimmed to a tangled dark,
leaves thirsting for light,
then dying. What if

the oceans were dyed black
and all the perforations
in the sky stopped to

unlet any star shine. Will we
forget what day is like, having learned
to cope so well in darkness?

But when we taste honey,
we remember the delicious
uncoiling, a passing essence

that transforms us, in silence.
Eyes made portals of the holy spirit,
flowers suddenly angels,

hearts turned to tulips.
It is not blood that makes us alive
but red. A jump

on the retina, a crashing
within, like lovers
joined in the crux of pleasure,

holding on to each other
like a blossom crushed
in the palm of one’s hand.


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