desire at terminal breath

we must return to fire where plunging into language begins. give me your mouth, now. I need your trembling silent mouth now. I must plunge into the last verb of my bones, muttering bones. desire. holy desire, you shall touch and be touched, for we are approaching understanding. we converge while plunging, for love is a well in the desert, the last well before the infinity of nothing. and now is the poem that was missing. flesh lives on flesh, we are the ferocious, the voracious urgency.

desire from desire, layers of skin making circles around fire.

this hour has still birds awaiting your speechless hunting in the forest where the moon appears alone like the final text of waters. it's raining on the breasts, everywhere.

there is a dark flash in the house, our clothes sleep on the floor, our doors merge with the dunes over the page of skin. evidence overflows, speaks of loss all night. it was me, in need of fruit.

and moon encloses the minutest silence, before fusion at high sea. the womb is in confusion and my vacuum echoes submersed, for there are layers of skin everywhere, approaching understanding and the call of fire, seven times seventy. your mouth still missing. extremely naked, never warm enough, questioning zero.

 my burning desert desires half moon, grows unsolved. my Absolute.