We left rosettes in fire clay
before we were naked,
exhaling each other.
One flesh nation coupling,
our blood of blood
and gristle of gristle,
shanks fat with marrow,
whisper-breathing,
lungs full of chattering dark.
Your haunting–
peppercorn eyes and
slick sideways lips.
Cinnabar fingertips–
firefly beacons at dusk.
Bursting our new skins,
we detonated. Hadn’t slept
forever like that–
before the walking cloud,
the aftermath. The bruising,
the fang and sting. Then,
we learned forbidden,
like a siren song
and a glaring angel,
wearing a mask like the sun.
For more on Richard Manly Heiman, please see our Authors page.
Amarillo Bay 