When It’s Over

I’ll walk around my world when it’s over.
The walk is over
when I lay on your silver tinsel
and surveil your aluminum stars.

When I’m fostered by your dark arms,
the enforcer of many onyx keys.

When I listen to them breathe
and narrow my eyes
to the slit of a yawning wolf
in the Cévennes.

When my olive eyes will milk
down into a brown honey.

And when I’ll slumber under an array of honeycombs,
breathing deeply, our lifetime coupling–
the surrender to a certain lycanthropy.

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