you arch your eyebrows
when I speak of
arc welding our bodies
together

even as a metaphor,
even in this poem

not as some sexual gambit witticism
proffered from your delectation
across the table

cool and calculated
like a chess move

and there we were in the restaurant dining with elegance
(was the steak not succulent,
the calamari to die for?)

all humans
carry the scars of previous
extravagances with words

where words fashioned flesh
as with tattoo, or with piercing

and left us
with vainglorious text, where all
can share the memory
of heroic failure

so no spot welding for tonight, no
arc of metal melting electricity

my lips are sealed, and
if this should you doubt
then add to
the seal

lip to lip

would say like
stars binary if
we did
not
go
supernova

image of an intensity to
obliterate eternity

you arch your eyebrows yet again
your soul, pure curvature

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