For X

I was mercurial, and growing
lion vertebrae.

In the calloused silver of morning,
I’d pry the german summer

from its velvet coffer, offer it
the chemistry of a wingspan

when it tastes smoke. You were lodged
like a tooth in its fish fat.

Still, you arrived with water
chestnuts for eyes and a

cichlid lipped mouth
dilated for wanting.

These were the wet & wayward
beginnings, darkening where we let them.

Hesperus, the evening star,
once caught me peeling the skin

of an aspen and crawling inside,
where you sucked the bloodsap

from my wood. I unhorsed the horse
and unmooned the moon

licking the salt from your hooves.