The red earth graze

on your chin

makes your tilted face

round like the world

An iceberg tooth

incites my lip

as if I were set adrift

colliding, capsized, lost

(tethered nevertheless)

in your unforgiving latitudes 

Brow cool

and fever dry

as any 

brazen templed sunset

 I suppose I must be the yellow dog moon

with my lopsided grin

bridled on a half-mouthed horizon

changing my mind

(and back again)

a creep closer and dark

with each circumnavigation 


when you gently

bite my face

I start to die again