i'm in the amazon and i'm waiting to arrive
this is a trick from the days of yore- when they wrote in lemon juice to secret lovers
who would later discover what was meant for only their eyes,
late, under the roof under the moon under the murmur of fog breathing relatives
by the light of the orbing gas flames as they breathed their last mist onto the mothwing scented walls
a spot on the sun bursted under the flesh of that secret lover
who would linger with their lips over the flame trying to find the right sense of mind just to blow it out and go back to bed.