All this talk in every way a mine
of kid gloves and landmines went underground.

You were communicable my limbs
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs

with friends spent, whose names like patients’ names.
Our clumped desire stirs and how

when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Foresee in the suitable niche, you said, is faith misplaced

or no desire at all. But I say, in my dreams I day-dream,
in my dreams I do not hope.

Where were you when was I? Counting down
the decades for the gain as victim of our quondam war.

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