(borrowed eyes, borrowed time)

ours: a sweet and vulgar torch song,
drawn out and in relief,
like the string of bones that line your back.

huddled together, bathed in ash and salt,
you:

held out my eyes so i could see
a raven's nest between the sheets.

covered my ears so i could hear
a siren blaring in the rail-yard.

cut out my tongue so i could speak
the words to sing your praise.

when old men claim that 'rust never sleeps,'
we march them down to the Calvary.