This is the last of the love poems.
I dream, I hurl a spear into the body of my love.
I am brutal.
But the spear begins to glow along its shaft
and transfixes me.
I stand covered in this radiance, unable to move,
magnetized towards the spear that I reach out to touch,
and then grasp, and stroked.
And carry myself forward along its length
until I have touched the body of my love itself at the point
where the spear has entered.
I sobbed, I shake in convulsions.
And the body of my love bends forward to comfort
me as I support myself against it,
and the peroxisome of leaving my body.