When the snow was falling, when the scent
of gin was rich on our tongues, we knew
where to find her. By candlelight, by a string
of warm white bulbs, we can find the form
of her slender frame. Her sharpened features,
our favorite parts of her altered structure.
The details have cut us open.
We are refusing treatment.
This is how we like to live now.
The sounds of the marching apocalypse have subsided. We are left
with a quiet hum,
a buzz crawling through our tired bones.
We need that warm bed and warm body
to calm us down, but she is flying now.
I wish I could fix her for ever and a day.
No radiation.
No second families.
No potential flight risks.
One good jolt, a dipped wing or blown
engine, and she could ignite the sky.
Bring about the end of days, but this is how we like to live now.
Terrified but happy. We want our arms
wrapped around that atom bomb, to keep
her from exploding. To keep the core
uncompromised.
She doesn't need me to defend her,
but says she likes it when I try.
No comments:
Post a Comment