Before the locked door,
the starched white sheets,
the Freud-speak,
there was a way in.
An unguarded door-
the eyes the lips
grab the handle;
skin raw sugar
turn the key;
my neck wet grass.
You say I love you with
an old rising force that
carries your breath like
orange orchids streaming down
a long stemmed waterfall
ferrying to the edge,
and my heart beats and my heart beats
salt brimmed electric novas
Breathe.
I am ruined, you are resurrected
I am the lion, and you the lamb.
The missing button and buckle
of these loose ends,
as permanent as sliced moonlight
through my jalousied window