she rakes his back,
black ash and stone,
smiling her fortune to the shade.
the cobwebby dark
lays down a shroud
that lingers, cold corner fingers.
cupboards rattle wind
blown empty refuge
as the sodium brittle bites the night.
the hour twists the moment,
the moment carves memory,
ivory tusk in orchid pink
that fuses liquid flesh
with a knot of hush
pull and pummel.