Yr My Heart Yr My Soul

Miserable creatures full of fruit,
withering skin and rotten apples,
crying sockets carrying baskets
of mold and enzymes, spittle and yeast.

The universe seen through the subway window
is blank, rushing station to station
under a network of lines and cubes,
but somewhere, far beyond the last stop,

your skirt is blown in a windy ravine,
mist from the waterfall wetting your cheek.
I offer my body and all of its pleasure to banners
adorned with silk, linen heavens, arrows shot

in the heart of the sun, trumpets, mystical,
carnal weddings, silver towers, pleas for my pardon,
smoke sent up that it may brush your cloak,
drunk dogs and corpses left in the ditch.