Flyblown

Ready to ricochet into former times
I stand on my toes, with my head covered
in cloud dust and steam
from my last flash fire intake.
Salty lips press into my hair
And my glitter coruscates in his nose.
He is in my heaven,
  the place that I have lost.
I can sense the muscles tensing in our sway.
Knots of chain bind us in place,
etched in stars I’ve made from fingernails and palms
    {seventy-six}
weave between every single rib of his
and shoot out to lock my lungs.

    His place.

Mine is still stuck between Never and Trust.
We both know the place,
In whispers we speak of its terror.
In hushed eyes we leak thoughts,
that we still cannot bear to think.

Flyblown and heavy I twist I your grip,
but words of catastrophe, void in this tryst


will not break me.