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.