Elsewhere

Elsewhere

we are a dance;
oiled skin

gliding

in firelight.

 

Here, we come and go
with the loyalty
of the public
transport schedule.

Life-light glowing
dim: the windows
of buses on January
mornings.

 

But there

My tongue
traces the serpent on
your belly.

To its tail,

then lower.

 

As the universe

collapses

to a single

trembling

point of

light.