Wake up, my love, and pull me out of bed
away from the grim white that dully stalks,
and walk your imperfection next to mine
as new fatigues uplift the morning sun.
The substance of our dreams now at a distance,
still their fumes intoxicate your pace:
the arrow of your flight cannot be stopped
without demeaning you to simple wood.
We flap our clumsy wings against each other
and rage the night for beacons opposite
and all to grip electrics to the bolt
that binds our hearts together to the storm.