The bridges of Madison County are
better left;
we are burning
ours.

As I watch your body fall,
through sky and sea and ash and fire;
while I’m pushing myself through
the mire,
incoherent substrata featured on the midnight news.

Your body;

And in particular your lips,
as they move rings around my
prick; the public displays of
affection we give each other.

As I push you, head first,
and I say head in the most
deviant way possible;

Head first, into the mire of the saints.

Camouflaged feel good circuitry,
the act of loving me,
a transitional desire;

Oh god, your smell;
the way you percolate
the breath of my desire;

An aroma so sweet,
as to deviate from purity
to the throes of ecstasy.

Arms around you,
in a deep grasp.

Conversation doubly made
through voice and interaction
of the flesh.

Shaking out
turbulence
like dirt on a rug.

This is what you do to me.
You make me crazy;
wild and uncontrollable.

And now I need to expel
every instance of your laughter.
Textuality is my medium of choice.

Raw forms and structures;
binary streams; digits rolling over,
never adhering to an order.

You cause such chaos.

And the chaos you cause
is more brilliant than the sun
at mid day.

You take my breath away.

Cuneiform subjected to a poet’s constraints;
clarification of data structures,
segmented;
fragmented.

Stored on disk.

An oscillating cylinder;
cerebral core.

Memory and logic combine with
beauty and intelligence; to form

An energy storm sufficient to
destroy
blocks of concrete poetry,

All pertaining to your intrinsic lovability.

An echo placed
in one small patch
of garden;
declares you
beautiful.