Love is a married man.
He is strong and lean; he's a tree.
He carries his son on his shoulders.
Love is a tunnel of laughter.
We lie together, chastely.
The bed is on fire. When I send
him away, we kiss forever.
I send him away, though my skin
is sloughing, my bones are cracking,
little fractures, one by one. When
he leaves, the walls fall down.
I sleep in the burning wreckage.