Jun 18, 2009


The mountains snows are the hands of giants left wristless
under starlight.
The plane is silver, and the cargo hold is warm.
There's opium in the air, and the acid we've just dropped
has begun to hit.
I throw my head back to kiss you upside-down.
And we twist.

You move my hand upon you and God, you are so feminine.
You say a thing I do not understand, and I open you
without understanding.
You say it again and it sounds like 'lower skin'.
And angered at my unknowing, you name yourself the angel
of death.
Blue angel, death angel.

Yes, it is cold outside and we are all venomous.
How fast do I have to fall to burn away before I hit the ground?
Yes, you may use my parachute.
Watch me fall. Wish.