Like a bone-jagged zap down the jawline.
When your eyes snag mine, hook-lining,
A last moth-winged utter
dissolves into an Aurora, a finger-
Prick drawing blood,
Crawling the back of my throat.
You’ve miraged from
Phantasmal hot coals, the vapor
Pulsing my brain,
Startlingly flesh and bones and scattering flying things—