Monday 9 February 2015





Our next kiss will be a jaguar crouched in a tree,
a bull seeing red, and we will divide the darlc
like a diver splits the surface,
lose our way like echoes in a too deep well.

Tonight's moon tumbles from her perch;
lizards vanish at the root. Slither through
the thicket with me. and our next kiss
will he smoke on a burning river. Silent

as the library after midnight,
reliable as December’s chill, I will come to you
and wrap your thighs in the fires of guilt.
Like the underside of a rotting trunk,

like a cat sleeping in the sun, our next lciss
will be opium from the pipe: slow as a heartbeat,
needy as an tomb—crawl toward the door, rise
and we will run deeper and deeper into the night

                                                                                                                      -Alan Gann

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