myths and aqua jets

fill it.
glass box with the smoke of a thousand goodbyes
the water is settling, erotic, on the tip of your inflected and forked tongue
i guzzle it down my throat
swollen
and itching with the unsettlement of having been pushed too far
wandered off the path
to find
on the other side of aqua jets
the cold cement of blackened morose promises
you didn't keep.
Your mind
too rational
flows through mine with the liquid ease of forgotten time
mine, too wide
searches for it's perimeter
hoping to find the completion of it's angle
obtuse and lonely
acute and all alone
where do the diagonals of my thoughts die?
and dive?
when will the intersection be the cure?
the outer limits of the myth i have made,
allowed myself to take part in
allowed you to take part
have become nothing more than lullabies i sing myself to make the intersection near
tangible
sweating and warm
to wrap my twisted body between your meshes and holds might make me split
if i could tell how far the warmth reaches
deep below skin, blood, and bone

it finds itself singular
bathing and steeped in the myth of a longer day.