• I.
    as retro-reality
    takes its toll on our pentagram
    notions, our emotions quake
    every time our love shifts
    closer to gravity—

    closer to depravity and likely
    to resume its fasting status
    with a man-on-moon mentality.

    so we'll keep drinking these lost
    energies to appease some form
    of fickle enemy. dress me up or
    down,

    across the star-way so we can
    murmur to the craters beneath us:
    we can't stand your inflated
    solemnity; let's fall into a habit
    of adrenaline divinity.


    II.
    But then I’ll float on high-end
    space, attending some
    fallacious basis to entail
    a greater suppression of veracity.

    On hooker moons and bar
    flute stars, I'll sell my love to you
    for free: we've only got
    this one chance, love,
    so let's stay up all night

    and refuse to leave.