Blue Wine

I want you to decorate my neck
with the wine of pomegranates
sticky and sweet, like the fruit
cracked on pavement
tree heavy

You say the moment I stop smiling
is the moment my face is pressed
into the pillow

You danced with me while
I held an empty can of tomatoes
your stubble on my neck, the serrated
tin in my hand

Its true that you leave afterwards,
saying something about your dog

We waded fields of fallen leaves
leaped rivers and lay under the wall
of the cemetery tossing pines

I might be alive again, now
that I have watched my
shadow drown and I’ve walked
the road to heaven and
was able to turn round
was able to wake up

You’re back with your dog, taking
your clothes off again, lips cold
like the thin skin on an autumn apple

After you leave I scrape the red
seeds from the cutting board
watching how porous
wood can be
Would not, could not, washed away

The veins on my wrist are blue like
the dark sea over which I travel
floating above raging waves
and shaking my hands free

I imagine far on the other side, there
will still be a bridge back