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;
lives hurled forward,
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,
crinkle iced eyes melt,
and I’m myself again.
In this wild aftermath,
with these giant smashclaps I pray,
I’ll wicked mad dazzle like you.