it's said that time is the great thief. but what if you could steal from time? then you'd be . . .

young, again

tomorrow, i'll be young, again,
quick shadows in your window,
a siren, again, pubescent scented

summer-faced down in dallier's lane,
bare footed, bare necked, sweat drops
beneath your sheet, salty on your lips,

will i fade before you wake, insubstantial?
sleep unfelt beside you, leave you in some
restless twist of 4am confusion? and so

you'll follow me, tomorrow, somewhere,
i can magick you, draw life from you,
then i will dance that phoenix rumba gig,

in a butchy boy finale, spinning,
and when you love me,
my breathing's done,

when i'm young