now we fade to green

When the snooze button breaks

only a drift from the dream

there was a chapel in the pines.

What I had called the marker
was really just a hallway light
to let me know you were coming

spring when promise blossomed.

That never really happened

because we were only born

a few brief moments ago,

triangles of narrative memory

etched in missives of moist clay.

The pastel dress of blue and lime
that I dreamt of lifting high
over your head in ceremony
to mark your privet

with mad muddy wails,
a vitrine before you sighed
in shatter on flat ground.

Many spoons of downing stew
sanded hunger into burnt tongues

of catty chatter bored in grainy doors,
leaving just enough browned sugar
to invent hallways of tongue
but not enough to sizzle brains
into a final spasm of lust:

I had already fucked everybody
that had ever danced
dances still
or will dance into the future.

The authority was you.