All morning, I read about Christian mystics. After a long bath, I wear a caftan and silver ring.
Intolerable hours of waiting for you. I plunge my hands in ice water.

The sun is red and low when I meet you by the fountain. Houses on steep hills light up. You speak
to me with your deep voice like a man hammering in a forge. I thrill at the sound like a dog.

We watch a miracle play performed by homosexuals. The homosexuals play saints or abstractions.
One man wears antlers braided with holly. Chastened in the last act, a lascivious friar loses his wig.

Longing is simple. However, you are a man with a skeleton, a will, a past. We argue on our way to
your place for dinner. My arm around your waist, drawing you near, is a gesture of peace.

We eat salt-baked branzino stuffed with chilies. We slowly pour cold water into our liquor until it
clouds in the glass. Wind buffets the screen door constantly. I sob in the bathroom.

Feathergrass shifts in the moon’s lean light. It is now so late the exact hour does not matter. Passing
the blunt, you exhale smoke like a sun god. When we kiss I kiss your skull.