I push my breath into your lungs in hopes that the transaction will appreciate

generate revenue with a high interest rate

compound into something worth its weight in gold

but don't worry, who am I

to hold grudges for dreams that don't come true?

the outcome isn't anything I'll spit fire at you about.

I've got my doubts:

there are aztec legends, switching hips

aching veins and pouting lips

with your name written all over them

but held precariously at bay by

our locked gazes, ticklish touch,

and the good luck sitting on my shoulder

since the heat bore down onto a breakdown

and, unrecognizable at a funeral,

I was shipped to rest with my head wrapped up

in a blanket of painted wings and milky ways.

Hope has been manifestation since then,

mysterious but so

delicious; then again, that's you in a nutshell,

the sum of all hearts that I have ever craved a piece of

cobbled and stitched together into a perfect match

that even the career escapist can't turn down

in spite of fear, in spite of worry,

in spite of beauty and the past

I sat down to spend the evening at your table

and got so full I couldn't turn to

see the door; still can't.