And Don't We All Go To Heaven?

your laughter startles from your throat like
a flock of wild swans- careening, laden
birds leaving behind heavy white feathers that
catch themselves in my trachea.  my eyes are dark
with intentions, and your heavy lids are
propped open like doors; letting out the
summer air.  your hand moves; a flower petal
opening into place.  you've taken no notice,
but i watched your bones rotate under
the skin.  they lie parallel, and i see the way
your ligament and muscle hug them; tendons
reaching out like spider legs, sinuous and
taught as cello strings.  i heard the sound
that pulled away from them as you flexed
and relaxed; a slow sonorous melody.  blue-glass
veins branch and curve under your wrist, cocooning
bundles of nerves.  your skin wears beads and
threads like low cut tank tops and
short shorts;

they catch my eye like ravens hoarding bits
of broken glass and shine.  my carnivorous laughter
follows after yours, trailing like a hyena hungry for bone.
you take me up to the world's crumbling spine, tree roots
digging deep into the marrow.  wrapped in lavender
shadows, we stand and let the fog press itself
into our openmouthed lungs.  your slow breaths are telling me
to breathe easy.  and under the shadows of the trees,
i find myself drowning
in water droplets.