Anton on the Beach
Mouths full of tobacco and pomegranate seeds -

making maps of Jerusalem
before the war with his
freckled hands in the sand,

thinking of warriors and priests
and how I once wanted to be a
Bride of Christ;

we were novices to the
novelties of Catharism; in
a fitful daze of cathartic
transcendentalism,

and after my mouth takes on your
flavoring I sleep in the hothouse
shade of too much daylight

and you sleep
so soundly, so
closely that you
entered my skin like
a spider bite,

crawled in deeply until I breathed nothing but smoke.