Jay Bird

The night is
Abstract pointillism,
Idle confetti,
For dirty lovers to
Cruise up
High serum troponin levels;
Dysrhythmias out-orchestrated:
A kiss without a name.

We're too gone,
But you found the splinters of my character
Soaked through the ground of this reality
Into the upsidedown ponds of the next;
I've been scattered and thrown
Into different stages
Of the time-space continuum.

You convince me to come with you
In an old-language
Dialect,
Running over the topography of
Invisible wounds,
And (y)our sadness
Consumes itself into
Happiness:
O' -
How it
Warrants a rocking
Hard-on.