Reanimated, spirit restored, reincorporated, body restored, I contemplate between dreams the scene I've stolen like the one who took fire, like the one who opened the devil box out of curiosity, like the one who saw her equal and her life's love were the same and so effortlessly brought them together. I took exactly what was not mine, with my eyes. I saw the sea inside you: on your surface, mud. I kissed you like a shipwreck, like one who insufflates the word. With my lips I traveled that entire continent, Adam, from dirt, Nothing. I knew myself in your substance, grounded there, emitting aromatic fumes, an amatory banquet of ashes.
And the Intrepid Anthurium
Two bumblebees extract nectar, sweet and bitter from the center of the rose-colored petals of a flower which is not a rose. Sated, they thud against the picture window again and again, fixed on escaping with their bounty inside them, into the air behind them, incognizant that the path to freedom has been eclipsed, incognizant that they are drawn to an illusion. With the blood honey in their guts already a part of their rapturous marrow. And distinct.