Modern igloos conceal a Phoenix lust,

Never to stale, desire’s nascence flames anew.

Brief windows of fortuity live forever; an unbridled melting

Of two selves, a cornfield, a prehistoric icecap;

Undisturbed by the foul-mouthed, groveling, regurgitating city,

Immune to their noisome sleighs ripping the flesh from our backs.

There is only one eternal gift and martyred time begs, “Drink.”

Wasted wine, bundled lust, sit on regret’s shelves; we decay.

What remains, granular skin, pebbles in my throat,

I scratch the welts of unlived life, they burn.