stillfugue

That night, there were two. My heart
flattened through chains of anxiety,
from the dangers of the depression,
praying, asking God to bring peace,
and there beside two empty bottles,
a pepper sprinkled over my moldy
mind, making my soul cough in orgasm,
feeling her hands, so perfectly
with a tempo that makes my spirit
crawl across the ceiling, flailing arms
and feeling the second with tanning
edges to the deepest brown loving eyes
and smelling the leather jacket she used
to tell me that she would take me,
control me for my own good and watch me
fly over the detritus of a poisoned city
that long ago forgot the powers of love
that had blown me to joyous
explosions of heart that melds
with the world and rides
down the stream into an
unending blast of fur.