We kiss and our teeth clink and smash and disintegrate into each other,
collecting below our floating heads in a pile of shared dust.
We walk over this newfound sand, hand in hand.
Eternal desert, endless horizon, two androgynous silhouettes,
without nipples or genitals or mouths,
pursuing the sun on the surface of mars.
I sniff you into me, and your hair is pasta, my mind melted butter.
A good dish, like a big broken-in leather arm chair
in front of a dusty, ray-laden, library window.
Night time and it’s time for the skeletons to dance,
clinking like wooden wind chimes, all high pitched and rain-like.
A waterfall, two feet tall, washes it all away, and the pine trees
wave goodbye as I float by, ready for another serving of now and gravy.