Figstorm

Although we can't, we'll find ourselves alone again;

outside their house, the party glowing through the walls.

The punchbowl like a moon to moths,

but we won't be missed,

out in that honeysuckle weight that fills the night with something wonderfully obscene.

All that we can ever do is repeat the common prayer.

I've heard it from so, so, so, so many lips.

 We can't, but will.

 Although we don't, we'll find ourselves alone again.

Old loss stirred up, dim embers in the heavy air.

We know we can't—and though we're both quite sober tonight,

we're desperate to say to each other “in another life perhaps”;

liminal,

until it's spoken.

Repeat the common prayer.

I've heard it from so, so, so, so many lips. 

We can't, but will.

We all struggle so, don't we?

We struggle so.

In-turned and close-curtained from the light.

Sap so strange,

exploding crimson, like a wound.

Take the flesh out in one bite.