Bird & Dragon
On the thirteenth evening I washed the fire from your feet -

we turned down the music,
rode awkwardly singing along
to the wind as it sashayed through
the open windows; listened, for
once to our own voices, because
when speaking we realized the weight
of each other, and the enormity of another
eon of nights spent daintily spilt across
someone else's cold floor.

We were not lovers,
though to any passerby they
might disagree, though really
we were birds and dragons, gardens
gabled from the gilded cage, sage
slung across the oval circumference,
mint ting in the air,

and there's a war going on somewhere,
and once I would have filled the silence
with my ridicule of it, where once you
would have snickered at my seriousness,
pulling back bird wings from tight teeth,
incisors becomes beaks, molars becoming
motifs,

and we were unbroken,

we were the last threads of
winter whistling along to
the radio before the first day
of spring,

and we watched the madmen
take over; lace science fiction books
under our arms, lazily spend our midnights
dreamlessly,

I sparkle to you
softly; a dim
hint ,

but the night keeps humming by,
and we keep on driving, despite the
light in the sky.