You stride across storm tossed fields to greet me,
Face elevated by a thousand bolts of neon and a tangerine black sky;
White lit, lofty eyed, voice strangulated into some sick kind of marvel by heaven knows what;
skewering wind, mud and rain hasten its assault.
Your string missiles, hardly less lethal;
With this thunderclap;
and again,
lives hurled forward,
discharged
I think I’m gone,
Strung out, wrung out, prised well loose.
And the rain barely felt, heated at your refrain,
like relieved tears, brushes away the stresses fracturing my skin.
Push-go, hurl-thrust, battle bloody persist,
spew savagely forth heart and guts;
lethal armed, incisor sharp, instrument versus voice,
hot blood, new life, mouth to mouth resuscitation,
imperial liquor through each vein and cell,
never was joy like this –
these sublimely spiteful, sacrosanct songs,
towering and thrusting to the skies,
annihilating whatever shit once was.
On these last crushing chords,
the fiercest screams, hers and mine,
up, up;
crinkle iced eyes melt,
a smile,
and I’m myself again.
In this wild aftermath,
with these giant smashclaps I pray,
I’ll wicked mad dazzle like you.
