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This is the last
of the love poems.

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I dream, I hurl a spear
into the body of my love.

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I am brutal.

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But the spear begins
to glow along its shaft

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and transfixes me.

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I stand covered in this
radiance, unable to move,

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magnetized towards the spear
that I reach out to touch,

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and then grasp, and stroked.

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And carry myself
forward along its length

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until I have touched the body
of my love itself at the point

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where the spear has entered.

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I sobbed, I shake
in convulsions.

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And the body of my love
bends forward to comfort

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me as I support
myself against it,

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and the peroxisome
of leaving my body.

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