Line

Line

drawn like

living hair

dead-of-night darkened

from you

to me.

Held back

outside
 leaning far over

thirsting

to kiss the end of the distances.

The evening

throws the springboard

of the night over the redness

prolongs your spit of land

and I set my hesitating foot

on the trembling strings

of the death that has already begun.

But that is love –