From the Costume Rack

I am a final layer of skin: his arms
fill mine, his chest is my heartbeat - we pause
between worlds, we muster breath on the brink...

We step into the white glare: I transmute.
The forever drizzle of dust, arid
heat and blur of time; forbidden fruits seep
from divine light: the juices soak us through.

Exiting right, I feel him bleed into
shadow - death is in the slow of his stride,
his shoulders crumple. I know the sag
of lonely bodies only too well - the dull

ache of reality. He paces black
wings like a prisoner in his rib cage:
an eagle mourning the loss of its flight.