bittersweet lasso

can i tell you that you have a farmland appearance 
                                                                    without sounding like a total cunt?
it's the patina of caffeine and tobacco,
and haunting archives of long gone loincloth gatherings that map your figure
it's the bottomless well of breathless friction that exists between us
how we dropped a penny in when we met and never heard anything back
how did we first meet?                             oh i don't know
you were probably throwing a spear through a winged fish with a horn
in the river snaking around our two caves, trying to impress me (didn't work)
or helping some feudal incel, who was trying to blame
witchcraft for the fact that he was balding, burn me at the stake (yawn)
maybe you even saved me from a vineyard brushfire though 
i was certainly trying to pilfer your harvest (honorable)
i only know there is old world destruction that breathes with the same lungs inside of us
isn't destruction responsible for driving creation?

my heart: an enclave of coyotes
yours: one graceful slice through overgrown brush

should i sing you a lullaby in the language of imaginary mother?
should i kiss you like a buckwheat stem fluttering in the breeze?
is a modern chapel devoid of the concept of phenomena,
or can i still be devout and give you a wink as collateral?

my love, i give in, let's move to the country
you can give me a free range exorcism
teach me the merits of stinging nettle, and 
how the bees are okay with us sharing their honey
                                                i can teach you how a cocoon is a privilege
i want to lay cranky in our feather bed while you feed me oats
i want to wear stilettos on the wraparound porch and wave to you
while you collect the eggs from chickens
who we give names like "pomegranate" and "gondola" and "ray"

i think about how constellations are routine; 
they never leave the sky, they never leave us
and yet their watch still grants us reverie