Rocket Science

Suspense drowning
The tonsils of my sorcery;
I question my own
Magic, when up in combat
W/ yours.
That chemistry could forbid
The un-folding of
Winter, much less her
Apprentice!
Red clouds copulating
Between the heavy commas
Of our eyes as they drift
Into opiate orbits
Surveying the indefinite
Silhouettes of what lies
In between
Words unsaid & words,
Traditional, unbothered,
Painless.