Twenty cigarettes
and my tongue
my tongue
tastes Sunset
boulevard
the aching shoulders
of destiny
of plastic and glass
rocks that carve the path
of the asphalt rivers
you carry me across
we stand
at the edge of it
fingering the limits
of publicity
of love
of the gifts from your eyes
illuminating
a reflection
in the mirror
where I have wiped away
the dust
and discovered
your many faces
pushing the key in
you ignite my metallic moonbeams
racing over the highway
the lowlands
that brought me here
wrought me
here
the highways
revisited
to remember
how I came to be this
dreaming in the language
of maps
and desire
eighty-eight singers
sixty-one songs
the words on my tongue
like restless memories
lay stark
in the cone vision
of headlights
parting the waters
of our tango
moving through
time skin
and the boundaries
that contain us
there is
so much
left
there
is so much
behind it
now
we are still awake
alive
in this night
of a hundred histories
scraping against each other
like tectonic plates
we make the earth
into mountains
temples
living breathing existing
into each other
into a space
between rocks
that the course of the river
must follow
as it rushes
into morning