Dry, she wrote in the abstract, as the arts,
She throws thought against her tongue and saliva
Into the faces of the crowd, like paint from a can
Onto a canvas of brick wall and scented candles.
She,
Drives faster when I tell her not to.
She,
Opens up her heart when I just want to laugh.
She, climbs into bed at night and untucks fear
Worry, semifrantic rushes of evening from
The closets.
We, belong, together.
She sees me deeper than the stomach of
A 300lb snapping turtle, neck, neck, down, down
Like a well, a bottomless chute.
Then the time is over.