A rushing musk collared our lovemaking
and was hoarse
and wild in cherry brandy, drink in,
she said and were it her
anger and her anger, her graces
like alone again alone
in the cold, wild valley of the gods,
the twitching grey men,
and milk and honey, sucking?
Darkness, wailing, gnashing
of teeth, bloody lovely,
lonely animals rolling, roaring
in waste
wine glasses and skewered memories…
Your ribs were soft
and your arms
like Agincourt crossing swords
with memories
your glasses taken off and
your eyeless stares and smiles and
you are the rocks and
the rains to be prized open,
savoured like
sardines as I lick my whiskers,
wet my eyelashes,
basking in nine lives.