It’s alright, I wanted to tell her. This vicious nature
that wakes us up inside,
tells us we’re alive,
forces us to not look away–
gasps, lunges, howls black as ocean’s breath on the moors
at night. Him and I will survive
because we’ll survive together,
until Eternity has its fill. We’ll be on that next boat,
new land, different name, kind of trip. We’ll be
wearing bullet wounds out like Versace. We’ll taste iron
when we fuck. We’ll leave and
when we vanish we’re never, ever coming
back. How fast the shadows change tense
blending in with
shadows,
are shadows blending in with
more shadows —
in the last pew,
the evening vespa
is recited in a burned down church
between our sharp teeth and the layover:
Give us this day,
to recount the dizzy feat of flying under moonlessness
and try once again
to Misbehave.
© 2024 West Ambrose
West Ambrose is a scrivener and performing artist. Check out his ever queer works at westofcanon.com. If you want anything published in The HLK quarterly or The Crow’s Nest, just ring for the masthead, and let them know.