The way we make heads spin, yours and mine,
gyro-scopic, demonically bone-mind entwined,
two dizzy dabblers in the kind and physical arts,
like the moon-lit chase one night in central park,
sleeved knife steel shiver your pace emboldening,
as I dodged trees and cats, tree’d cat spit-hissing
like mongrel mad dogs, mad-dashing as we were
half naked, stumbling drunk, gamboling jig curs;
where that night ended and this afternoon began,
I cannot unwind the tale, follow the threads’ end,
twist-tied in silent slept breath now we’ve become,
once more, one more lie, one last undoing, un-done.
In the gaze of the other 