…as twilight fell to the edge of our peak’s matterhorn
with a stillness of breathlessly innuendos ajar
each vertebra down on the sheets over shadows
and svengali caught between our fingers
like a sail unmoored beneath the stars…
but you hold the key and tarot
let us drown in the prosecco of our midnight
your lips are not merely soft but an atlas
of every terrain my tongue has trespassed
let us be the blasphemy
that breaks the monastery’s vow
and the frescoes dry
