Just thinking
about you, and I
begin to scramble
back-ways
in a love-poem.
I see you
plastering two hands
against every pillar
and post, whispering
in exaltation.

I turn the corner
and the person I thought
I was, is washed-up
on Malibu beach.
I keep walking
and you are there
in the Andes
at 12,000 feet
chewing coca-leaves
to keep me
from falling
from our love
-stricken high-horse.

I stop at the coffee-dock
and the Earth is
dangling upside-down.
And we are in the crust
of it, mouthing love me,
love me, love me.