not the head
you shine from your ass,
glowing yellow in the early evening
flying quietly over the grass
you,
in the old forest,
at the edge of the stream
I caught them and locked in a bottle
studying up through the long winter nights
(the light of desirelessness)
today,
come back to the room and sit on the desk
saying hello on the monitor,
flying and walking
opening the window
sitting on the back of my hand and tickling me
hold on to your light
trapped in both hands
between the fingers
I look down at your cold light
seething with hunger
like an exploding volcano
stroking my anger
with your cold light
and reflecting oncoming future.