XXX

Second degree burn
in all the tender swelling of desire,
prickling of that vagrant chile pepper
at two in the immoral afternoon.

Gauntlet of the borders verge to verge.
Fragrant truth captured alive, connecting up
the antenna of sex
with what we are being without knowing it.

Overflow of the ultimate ablution.
Traveling cauldrons
that collide and spatter with fresh shade
unanimous, the color, the fraction, the hard life,
the hard eternal life.
Let's not be afraid. Death is like this.

The sex blood of the beloved who moans
sugarsweet, from bearing so much
on such a ridiculous point.
And the circuit
linking our poor day and the grand night,
at two in the immoral afternoon.