We share
wet conversations
at fancy dinners
swallowing bouquets in
spoonfuls of compliments—
our mountains are born
on screeching tabletops and
empty bottles of Liebfraumilch
but children steal
boys in bars
flying through
smoke and sex and asteroids
the river of time
is frozen in cubes
dunked in rotting-orangey air
                                                      eternity is for,
but we remember
thick slices of love-bread
dripping in spit-smokey days
fenced off
by muddy fields
bathed by liquid suns—